I must say, I am ABSOLUTELY against all plans to install CCTV cameras and sound recording equipment in Oxford’s taxis. Sure, the city council insists video footage will only be accessed by police or the council but human nature being what it is, I’m fairly certain many of these metered rides will actually end up on YouTube.

And why not? Because the simple, inescapable truth is that most of us only take taxis when we’re drunk.

I find conversations in taxis stressful enough, despite having learnt some tricks over the years to deal with these panic attacks.

For instance, I often rehearse potential conversations before climbing into private hires (don’t ask me why but Hackneys never trigger my alarm button in the same way).

Not unexpectedly, “See the match last night?” is the Ground Zero for back seat pow-wowing.

The drivers usually reply: “Yeah, what a load of ...” to which I counter “Bleedin’ ref. Should ‘ave gone to SpecSavers.”

Other topics in my repertoire include: “Whoa! – catch the pins on that?”, “Seen the Christmas trees in Marks yet” (though this is restricted by seasonal considerations) and my personal favourite: “Look at that, no lights” even if the poor cyclist looks like Cape Canaveral all lit up before a launch.

If these are to be screened for world wide entertainment, fair enough, but what about those conversations we have after sinking a fifth glass, as we climb into a cab with someone who, all-of-a-sudden-it-must-be-a-miracle has mimicked the curves of Megan Fox?).

Over the years, I hate to think of the number of times I’ve found myself down on one knee, beguiled and charmed while battling a fit-to-burst bladder and a drool so long it could stretch to Witney.

And if that weren’t bad enough, think of those pillars of society – the MPs, the councillors, the vicars – who could now face red carpet ‘premieres’ over their bouts of back seat projectile vomiting?

No, it isn’t nice and isn’t pretty, so precisely why film it?

Surely it would be more humane, more effective a deterrent to protect our cabbies by simply fitting taxis with electric chairs?

Nothing fatal naturally – just an impish burst for any idiot who thinks dropping his kebab, his frothy pint, and his trousers – is an admirable demonstration of masculinity. After all, cabbies are urban heroes; they scoop us up from 10.00pm until 4.00am, when we’re nearly always at our most pathetic, and aside from the occasional tip, all they get for this service is indifference or abuse.

So yes, let’s protect them, but not at the cost of turning us all into stars of You’ve Been Framed.