Micky McSharry has never been robbed, but he's glad that his London hackney cab has a glass window between the driver and the back seat, and the protection is a comfort. Not that he needs it most of the time. After 20 years' cabbing, he still has a pleasingly upbeat view of humankind.
"Most people are fine," he says, as we set off around the streets of Brighton and Hove on Valentine's night. Even the drunks? "Most people are just merry. Usually, it's just banter." Even so, he says, you have to keep an eye out. "When they've got drink in them, it's easy for them to go off." So he's prepared, with cloths to clean up vomit, and conflict-resolution conversational skills that would do justice to an ambassador.
"You've got to be firm with people," he says, "but don't confront them. Don't be subservient. If they're talking about football, agree with them. And I never, never bring up religion."
Big news
Radio Cabs' owner Chris Nutley has allowed me to sit in McSharry's cab for a couple of hours. All his pre-booking passengers have been warned that they'll be sharing their cab with a journalist. When I turn up most don't seem to remember or care much, beyond being puzzled. "Is riding around in a Brighton cab a big news story, then?"
It is, tonight - not only because Brighton is a party town with a liberal attitude to most things and most people but because McSharry, cabbie, counsellor and confessor, is now a sexual health provider too.
Since August, in his glove compartment and boot, McSharry has kept a couple of dozen sealed black envelopes, each containing two condoms and a leaflet about the scheme. Safe Ride Home began in Brighton and, since its inception, the drivers of Radio Cabs have handed out 60,000 condoms.
It's entirely voluntary, says Nutley, over a drink in Heist, one of the 10 nightclubs and bars that participates in the scheme by handing out flyers. "The drivers do their pay-ins on a Wednesday and they can pick up their samples then, if they want." Nutley decided to be the first cab firm to pilot the scheme because "I read about the high levels of STIs [sexually transmitted infections] in the news, on TV. There is a lot of action in Brighton and this is a great idea."
Christine Wright, the Trojan condoms PR who thought up the scheme, says: "People are worried about how the younger generation perceive sexual health. I grew up in the generation that had the fear of god put into them about Aids. It was scary. Now people are more worried about pregnancy, and they know they can go to the chemists' and get the morning-after pill." Putting condoms in cabs, she says, is as close as the firm can get to the bedroom. In a taxi, after drinks and flirting, and when condoms are nowhere to be found, is a point at which some people might decide to risk it. And the risk is there: Brighton's rates of STIs are above the national average, in common with other party towns.
The condom scheme is now running in three British towns, and is set to run in another seven. But Brighton and Hove council has imposed strict regulations: condoms can only be handed out between Thursday and Saturday, and only after 10.30pm. No advertising in cabs is allowed, even for a scheme promoting sexual health. The only way to know whether you are in a "condom cab" is to ask. The only way to see if anyone will ask is to wait.
The passengers on Valentine's night don't disappoint. The first, a young man on his way to a club, says: "Is this one of those condom cabs?" before refusing a sample and saying, somewhat mystifyingly: "Maybe it encourages promiscuity. Isn't safe sex more about talking than using condoms?"
A couple on their way home from a romantic dinner don't mention it until the last minute, when - with Bond-like suaveness - the man gets his change and says, quietly: "I'll take one of your envelopes, mate." A couple of women out on the town don't bring up the topic, preferring to relate how dangerous Brighton has become. "I've got a friend who drives a cab, a real hippy," says one. "He's driven for 15 years and now he's put safety glass in because he doesn't feel safe." She used to walk everywhere, she says, but now she wouldn't.
McSharry says nothing to this, but afterwards says he'll always take women to their destination. "Even if they run out of money, if they say they'll pay to go so far and walk the rest, I'll always take them home." Even if they're taking advantage? "It doesn't matter. I can't leave a woman on the street."
McSharry's philosophical attitude is useful with problematic passengers. I ask if people have sex in the cab. "Some people do get deeply embroiled," he says. "They're not usually going far, so I let them get on with it." The worst are the dealers, strapping drugs on to their arms and selling them in car parks. "I can't do anything about it. I just get them out of the cab as fast as possible."
Brighton and Hove City primary care trust does have some misgivings about the scheme. "It is certainly innovative," says Stephen Nicholson, the trust's sexual health and HIV lead commissioner, "but I have concerns about people with no sexual health training handing out condoms. I'm worried that it's inappropriate. And who's monitoring it?"
Mutual embarrassment
McSharry points out that he hands out envelopes, not information. With the first two women, for example, he said nothing. Another two have heard about the scheme on the radio that morning. "It's brilliant. It gets rid of that awful embarrassing moment, when you've been flirting and it's got to that point where you have to bring up condoms. In a cab, that's the time you get caught out. But if you ask for them in a cab, the embarrassment's mutual." She turns to McSharry: "Can I have a sample?" He reaches into the glove compartment, impassive as a butler, happy to oblige.
By 1am, the glove compartment is nearly empty, but the night has been relatively slow in condom terms - most samples are taken by regulars who know they're there.
McSharry ponders his profession. "On the very odd occasion," he says, driving along Brighton's seafront to drop me off, "when you've had a bad night, you'll think 'why am I doing this?'. But otherwise I'd never give it up. Flexible hours, you meet lots of people, you're not stuck in an office. It's nice." Diminishing disease only adds to the satisfaction.
