‘Are you lost?’ a man says. He has Scandinavian-looking blond hair and a dark blue scarf wrapped round his neck. He’s got a bit of an accent and now he’s indicating my phone with a finger. ‘Where are you trying to go?’

‘Notting Hill,’ I say, feeling like I’ve stepped into a film for a moment. Christmas is everywhere and there’s a tiny split second where the noticing-things part of my brain is looking at me from the outside. The thing about being addicted to a certain kind of romantic movie is that you’re always half-expecting that your life might just suddenly take a turn for the better. And handsome Scandinavian types who look a bit like Jaime Lannister are pretty much up there on my list of good things.

‘I’m not sure which bus to get,’ I say. ‘Because I usually get the tube, but my friend said it was easy from here. Easy if you’ve got a sense of direction, I think. Which I definitely have not.’

And then I find myself telling this complete stranger, who has opened the Citymapper app on his phone and is tapping rapidly: ‘I’m picking up the keys for my new house.’ I can hear the little note of pride in my voice.

‘Nice,’ he says, smiling. He points to the bus stop on the opposite side of the road. ‘If you get the 94, it’ll take you straight to Notting Hill Gate. It’ll take a bit longer than the tube, but on the other hand, it’s a lovely view if you’re new to the area.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. I’m not doing a great job at trying to look like a well-established local, then. A fresh torrent of hailstones batters the canopy above us. ‘Might just wait a moment.’

‘That’s very wise.’

Obviously if this was one of those movies with woolly hats and kissing in the snow and hard-bitten businesswomen remembering the true meaning of Christmas, at this point we’d start a conversation, and he’d follow me onto the bus, and – well, you know the score. But this is not a movie, I am one hundred per cent single, and despite being as much of a sucker for a Richard Curtis movie as the next hopeless romantic, I remind myself that I am one hundred per cent not looking for anyone else. Because this is my new start, and my new life, and I am doing it On My Own.

The hail stops, and I try my best to stride across the road in the manner of an independent London girl living her best life, aware that the handsome Scandinavian person is watching and (obviously) thinking that I am the one that got away and wondering if he’ll ever see me again. What actually happens is I almost get knocked flat by a bloke on a Deliveroo bike, fumble to find my card to swipe it when I get on the bus, and when I do climb the stairs and sit down on a seat, I look across the road to see the handsome Jaime Lannister lookalike beaming with delight as his boyfriend appears from behind the door of NMC Inc in an expensive-looking coat, kisses him on the mouth and runs an affectionate hand through his lovely blond hair. Ah well. It’s just as well I’m not looking.