If only I had a balloon, I thought, inexplicably, as I continued to follow this woman, self-conscious and bothered. If I had a balloon, she would look behind her and see a man with a balloon, and who's ever been attacked by a man with a balloon? Who'd 'attack' while holding a balloon? A balloon implies innocence, and fun. It would suggest I had just been somewhere lovely, perhaps the circus - or maybe I was in the circus! What woman would look behind her at night and be horrified to realise she was being followed by a huge clown?

Actually, that's most women, isn't it? Forget the balloon.

And then a thought struck me. I could make a noise! A noise which would signal that I knew I was following her, and that it didn't bother me in the least. A noise which would say, 'You and I, m'lady, are simply travellers along the same path. I mean you no harm.'

And so I coughed. And then cleared my throat. It was genius. By showing her I was there, I was alerting her to the fact that I had nothing to hide. But I wasn't sure she'd heard it, so I coughed again, louder. She appeared to speed up slightly. This wasn't good. Now she probably thought I was a crazy-eyed knifewielding loon with a cough, and that was worse, because nobody wants a cough.

I decided the best course of action would be to slow down a bit and then keep as quiet as possible. And so I began to tread as carefully as I could, virtually tip-toeing down the street. I held my arms away from my sides, so that there'd be no chafing of sleeve against jacket. I made that weird nervous face you make when you're trying to be really quiet.

And then she slowed down and stopped under a streetlight on the corner of the road, and she started to look in her purse. This annoyed me for two reasons. One: I now had no option but to overtake her. I couldn't very well stop when she did. That would look weird. And two: why was she looking in her purse under a streetlight when she knew she was being followed by a coughing, knife-wielding loon? I felt like running up and bellowing at her just to teach her a lesson. What kind of society is it where women can walk down the street and fail to be intimidated by coughing, knife-wielding loons? It's political correctness gone mad.

And then I remembered that I was not a knife-wielding loon.

She was still rummaging through her bag as I got closer, but, not wishing to frighten her as I passed, I continued my slight tiptoe, complete with strange face.