The case against London cabbies

I lost my misguided faith in black cabs last week, on the corner of Royal College Street in north London. It was the tiniest trip — 2.4 miles from Bloomsbury to my Camden flat at 11.30 in the evening. Hard to mess up, too: empty roads, good weather and the easiest of routes — practically a straight line to my flat. To my horror, the cabbie dodged the obvious, straight route and embarked on an extended loop through the traffic-choked hub of Camden Town tube station and Camden Market.

I pointed him in the right direction and he reluctantly did a U-turn and headed up Royal College Street. Not a word of apology — and still a £11.20 fare for a ten-minute journey. No tip, needless to say.

I can’t know whether he was ripping me off or merely clueless. But either way, in the days of satnav, it’s staggeringly incompetent. And in the days of highly efficient taxi and minicab apps — like Uber, Addison Lee and Kabbee — it’s unforgiveable. The exclusive privileges given to black cabs must go.

Black cabs are the go-slow thugs of the road. Overpriced, selective in who they pick up, arrogant about their knowledge and the Knowledge, nasty to other drivers, homicidal to bicyclists, bullying to competitors, they crawl across our cities in a puffed-up bubble of self-importance that has needed pricking for years.

The myth that the Knowledge is some astounding feat of memory is no longer true, if it ever was. In 15 years, no black cab driver has ever known the quickest route to my flat. Yes, it’s impressive to learn 320 routes within a six-mile radius of Charing Cross. And cabbies were particularly gratified in 2000, when scientists at University College London discovered that black cab drivers often had an enlarged hippocampus — the part of the brain associated with navigation in birds and other animals.