Rank fellows, one and all

So aul' Mr Brennan wants all taxis to be painted yellow. Apparently canary-coloured cabs are more recognisable to the visually impaired. Sounds reasonable enough.

But may I humbly suggest the Minister adopts a more expansive recognition system for taxis. Sure, they can all have big yellow lights on the roof, but I want more detail.

See, not all taxi-drivers are the same. The vast majority of drivers are decent, hard-working souls out to make an honest living. But, as any brief perusal of court cases in newspapers will tell you, a minority of them are dangerous sexual predators, drug couriers and racist thugs. And personal experience will tell you another sizeable chunk are just plain pains in the arse.

We should have a right to know what we're letting ourselves in for before we clamber aboard. So I suggest colour-coding all taxis according to the type of driver.

Here's a proposed Emissions Guide to Taxi Types:

White: Everyone's favourite kind of driver. Stares straight ahead, eyes on the road, making no attempt to engage you in pointless conversation. Speaks only when spoken to. Automatically takes the most efficient, direct route. Charges you exactly what's on the meter and doesn't even think about adding on 80 cent because you're wearing blue or there's an "R" in the month. You always tip him.

Grey: Old school. Been a taxi-driver for 30 years. Has dartboard with Bobby Molloy's face on it on the dashboard. To be avoided, unless you enjoy tirades about how his taxi plate was his pension and how the Government has reduced him to working 23 hours a day in order to survive. Hates anyone not driving a grey taxi. In fact, hates everyone. You included. Expects a massive tip. Curses you loudly when he doesn't get it.

Black: Only comes out at night. Maniac spawn of the devil. Drives like his cab is being dragged by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Scatters pedestrians, cyclists, traffic cops before him like human skittles. Charges you triple. You pay gladly, just to get away alive.

Red: Manchester United fan. Will bore the face off you wailing tearfully about how Roy Keane should be canonised and how he's named all six of his sons Alex Junior. Will let you off the fare if you swear, hand on heart and the other on a picture of George Best, to cripple Thierry Henry if you ever meet him.

Gold: Thinks he's hot stuff. Tinted windows, bucket seats and rally driver's padded seatbelt, even though he's driving a '92 Corolla with 230,000 miles on the clock. Has the stereo blaring Eminem at full tilt. Won't notice you running off without paying because he'll be too busy yelling obscenities at youngwans on the street.

Green: Rabid republican. Will spend the whole journey home telling you what a babe yer one Mary Lou is and outlining his vision of a 32-County Marxist Utopia free of crime and corruption. Will then try to charge you double, and if you refuse, will remark casually that he knows where you live.

Psychedelic: Utterly wasted. Will get hopelessly lost before trying to sell you a block of hash. Will forget to ask you for the fare.

Striped: Just out of prison after an eight-year stretch. Has no idea where anywhere is anymore. Will try to get you to pay him in cigarettes and chocolate bars.

Swastika-patterned: Fairly self-explanatory, really. Rants about how Africans can't drive, Chinese people all cycle on the wrong side of the road and any Eastern European in a car must have stolen it. Thinks you agree with him. Throws you out when you object. Makes sure he gets paid before leaving you stranded in the rain eight miles from home.

You can have that idea for free, Minister. It's on me.