Back in 2009, when the Labour government piloted a voluntary biometric identity card, I signed up immediately. In fact – claim to fame – since the scheme was actually launched in my hometown of Greater Manchester, I was one of the first in the country to acquire this pioneering piece of ID. Mine for just 30 quid.

Why the enthusiasm? It simply seemed a pragmatic thing to do. No rooting around for dog-eared gas bills to prove I wasn’t a phoney. Or living in fear of losing my passport when travelling across Europe.

I didn’t for a moment consider whether the card could compromise my privacy or expose my darkest secrets. Apart from a few points on my licence and an incurable urge to rearrange name place settings at weddings (otherwise I always get the golf club bore) I’d led a blameless life.

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