YOU'RE walking – or, if it's a fine day, skipping – along the street, minding your own business.

If the skipping hasn't left you out of puff, you may even whistle, perhaps buoyed by the knowledge that you've two £10 notes in your wallet, more than you've ever had before.

Suddenly, a face looms out of the crowd. It's a smiling, happy, handsome face, which obviously discombobulates you. Below the face is a yellow tabard and in the owner's hands there's a clipboard. You can quote me on this: clipboards always mean trouble.

The realisation dawns: you're about to be chugged. That's to say, mugged for charity by chaps and burdz wanting you to agree regular payments. This is awkward. I don't want to sound controversial, but charity is a good cause.

However, if you are a Herald reader (I've just checked: you are), you probably give to charity already. More importantly, being chugged makes you feel a mug, as you've not been man enough to shrug off the chugger with a stern growl. And, in this age of equality, when I say "man" obviously I also mean it in the female sense.

But here's a rub: nobody likes being buttonholed, even in a good cause, indeed particularly in a good cause, because it makes us feel conflicted. Good cause: good. Buttonholed: bad.

Chuggers seem such nice people, too. True, they have extrovert personalities, which I always find distressing. But they're smiling. You might even describe them as "breezy". I'll tell you this: I've encountered some who were almost Christ-like. And that, in a nutshell, is why something must be done about them.

Glasgow City Council is the first authority in Scotlandshire gallus enough to give it a bash. It will permit chugging in only six city centre locations and seven other sites. Though that sounds suspiciously like 13 places altogether, the controversial activity will only be allowed in the centre two days a week and three days elsewhere. Which sounds suspiciously like five days a week.

Only five chuggers will be allowed in any one place. Five? That sounds suspiciously like five. Isn't that more than there usually are already? It's a bit like saying: "There have been three traffic violations in this area every day. But, in future, we are only going to allow four."

It's as if Moses were to have stoated doon from yon Mount Sinai and announced: "Right, murder is now outlawed, ken? Except on Monday through Friday in the desert and on Saturday and Sunday in the marketplace. And you can only murder a maximum of two people. Though not on a double-yellow line."

Still, at least it's a start, signalling battle has begun. As a professional introvert, I take a certain joy in the anti-chugger oppression. Normally, society is biased towards extroverts. Indeed, in some rural areas of England and Wales, extroverts pay less council tax than introverts.

My only fear is that it may persuade more chuggers to come calling at the door, as they've been doing of late. This, too, is uncomfortable, almost like being burgled or, I suppose, churgled. Mind you, working from home, I welcome any opportunity for conversation and have been known to follow the fleeing postman down the street shouting: "Wait, I haven't finished speaking to you! They say it might rain later! I've painted my garden shed! Do you prefer crinkle-cut or straight oven chips?"

However, that doesn't mean I can't be sweet-talked myself. Once, I fell for an amiable Irishman's blarney that concluded with me agreeing to have my garden shed lagged and doing all my shopping in only one shop. The chap called in the early evening, knowing I'd be sozzled, and I signed the forms quite inadvertently, while talking about football and women.

I'd to spend the whole next day disentangling myself from the deals. True, they weren't charity, but the principle was the same: somebody talked to me and, in my experience, that only ever leads to trouble. In the meantime, it's to be hoped that other authorities follow Glasgow's lead and restrict chugging to levels only slightly greater than exist at the moment.