The way to stop financial joyriding is to arrest the chauffeur, not the automobile.
I get to play a lot of butler-chauffeurs.
I know an elderly society matron in Singapore who would rather walk in the scorching sun for blocks on end rather than have her chauffeur drive into the Central Business District at peak hour and pay the $1.50 surcharge.
For a driver to be driven by somebody else is an ordeal, for there are only three types of drivers: the too fast, the timid and oneself.
You know, before I would think, my cab driver hates me. Now I think my limo driver hates me.
I'd never had people drive me around, and then all of a sudden, if a car didn't come, I'd say, "Where's my car?"
Sometimes I drive, and sometimes I'm driven.
Well, I always had a chauffer, because I have never driven a car in my life. I still can't drive.
I was never really keen to drive. I was always chauffeured around.
I would wear the blue overalls of the fieldworker and often wore round, rimless glasses known as Mazzawati teaglasses. I had a car, and I wore a chauffeur's cap with my overalls. The pose of chauffeur was convenient because I could travel under the pretext of driving my master's car.
I once came back from a book tour where sleek black cars driven by nice men in black suits waited for me at every hotel, took me to every signing, brought me back, opened car doors for me. They were great. I was great. It was a wonderful tour.
Composers should write tunes that chauffeurs and errand boys can whistle.
Sometimes if I do radio interviews or certain kinds of interviews or things that would require me to travel, then I'll get a nice car ride. Someone will take me, drive me to that place, and I'll actually get to see around.
