‘Yeah,’ I say quietly, all out of small talk. There should be some kind of code where you can politely tell a cabbie that you’d rather not make conversation.

The driver’s beard is extraordinary, and I find myself staring at it. It’s nothing like a well-groomed hipster beard – more of a Tom Hanks in Castaway beard, with wild streaks of grey. This guy literally looks as if he washed up here a few years ago, has been sleeping in a hut, living off coconuts, and then only today decided to start driving a cab. His car also smells distinctly castaway-like – there’s a definite musk of wet, sandy towels. He surveys me in the rear-view mirror, and I’m slow to muster a smile.

‘Cheer up, hey, might never happen,’ he says, in a soft, deep voice.

And that does it. Something inside me snaps, and before I can stop myself, I bite back.

‘I am allowed to look grumpy if I want to. It is my face and my prerogative not to smile. You don’t know what’s going on in my life and it is not my responsibility to make the world a prettier place for you, OK? So just keep your eyes on the road, buddy.’

His dark eyes grow wide in surprise, and he dutifully returns them to the tarmac ahead. I know I should stop talking, rein it in, but it’s like this bubble of rage has been sitting, suppressed in my stomach, for I don’t know how long – but now that I’ve popped the cork, out it spews.

‘And you know, as much as it “might never happen”, maybe it has already happened to me. Maybe I’ve already had the best part of my life, and now I’m just on a long, lonely road to death and I will have “died with unrealistic expectations” engraved on my bargain-basement headstone.’

I sink back into my seat, having scared myself a bit. I’m not sure the author of Tiger Woman meant me to ‘unleash my inner roar’ on a poor, unsuspecting stranger.

‘You’re over from London, then,’ says the driver, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

Oh, right, so now he thinks I’m some angry city cow. It’s not city living that has made me angry. I cross my arms and turn to glare out of the window at the evening sky. We’re driving along the sea front now, a huge expanse of dimpled, wet sand merging into a grey-blue sea. There are palm trees. I wasn’t expecting palm trees. I take a moment to breathe it all in.