For my sins, I drove a mini cab in London in the 1990s and George Carman was a regular account customer. By then he had a string of court triumphs to his name. I (or other drivers) would pick him up from his home in Wimbledon Village early evening and usually take him into the West End, then bring him back later when he was often sozzled. He wasn't very talkative at the best of times and certainly not when sozzled. But occasionally the rather forbidding front would relax a bit and we would chat. I recall there was a drug case (I think involving Thailand) in which a British woman was claiming that the drugs had been put into her suitcase without her knowledge. When I expressed my scepticism he said, 'Well, it's the only defence, isn't it.' I never thought to ask him about the Thorpe case and whether he really believed in his innocence. Just as well, as I suspect I’d have got a pitying smile in return.