So I cruise into the BP Express shop during lunch to buy a frothy cappuccino with my colleague, and as I walk out, some random punter filling up his white Citi Golf (with North West plates) screams across the forecourt:
I sort of ricocheted off my car door in surprise, and hastily got inside.
Perhaps I imagined it. Or perhaps I have a stalker on my hands.
PS: If this situation sounds familiar to any of you, please come forward!