I'd noticed the man smiling at me almost as soon as I'd got through to Colin, on the phone. I'd smiled back, of course, because it would have been rude not to, and I am not a rude man. Politeness is important.

But then the man had raised his eyebrows at me and waved. And it suddenly struck me: this man thought he knew me.

There is nothing worse than not remembering someone, especially when they're raising their eyebrows at you and waving. And so I raised my own eyebrows, and I waved back at the man.

'You're not even listening to me,' said my friend Colin, on the other end of the phone.

'I am!' I said. 'But I'm waving as well.'

'At who?'

I shrugged. Which was pointless, really, because Colin was in his flat, and as such couldn't quite make me out.

I'd been talking to Colin about his advice of the week before. Sensible advice: Get a will. Because you never know. It could happen to you.

Surely, I'd thought, this was the kind of advice you gave to a man, not a boy. This was the kind of advice you gave to people who own gardening equipment and stay in on Saturday nights! Not to people like me!

And then I realised that actually, I own a Flymo, and actually, what I usually do on Saturday nights is watch The Weakest Link and eat a samosa.

And so I'd traipsed off to an office near Wembley and had a man do my will.

'You can't just stand there waving at strangers,' said Colin.

'I've stopped waving now,' I said. 'Now I'm just raising my eyebrows and smiling at him.'

'What's he doing?'

'He's raising his eyebrows and smiling at me. He definitely thinks he knows me.'

Perhaps, I thought, this was down to telly. I sometimes pop up on there, and for a few days afterwards I'm approached by people who sort of think they might know who I am, but inevitably don't.

'Excuse me,' a girl had said to me the week before, in a pub. 'Are you Danny Glover?'

I wasn't sure what to say.

'Danny Glover?' I'd said. 'You mean the black actor from the Lethal Weapon films?'

'Yes,' she'd said. 'Will you sign this? To Emily.'

She handed me a piece of paper. I wanted to tell her I wasn't Danny Glover, that I never had been, but I could see in her eyes that she really wanted me to be Danny Glover, and so politeness prevailed. I took her pen and wrote: 'To Emily, from Danny Glover, the black actor from the Lethal Weapon films.'

And she looked at it. And she said, 'Thanks!'

So maybe that was it.