Because I'd eaten four or five dried apricots with no obvious consequences after twenty four hours, I threw caution to the (ahem) winds, and ate pretty much the rest of the packet the day before getting the train back to london.
I was not to know that these were the rare breed of dried apricots that took just a little longer to kick in than normal. Hence the slight air of discomfort as I got on the train at Penmere turning into 'ooh blimey that wasn't a good idea' around about Bodmin Parkway, followed by a high-pitched whining sound that could have been coming from any part of me, to be honest. Or the other passengers, thinking about it.
In my self-pitying state, I thought about how cold and lonely life can often be in the big city (London, not Bodmin Parkway), and how rare it is to simply bump into someone you know.
'Ah', I thought 'How pleasurable it is to randomly encounter an old friend, how lifted become the spirits, how gladdened the step.' And if you spend every day knee deep in show business like I do, how much even better it is if you bump into someone you know who's famous, so you can look around at other people with that look that says 'Ha ha! I know this famous person! I must be aces!'.
As the train pulled into Paddington station I clutched myself miserably, trying to avoid the accusing, tear-stained glances of my fellow passengers, and thought of how the one thing that would cheer me up would be if were to bump into someone I knew, who was also quite well-known in their own right. If they were the sort of person who liked nothing better than to discuss the workings of their own and everyone else's digestive system, that would be a bonus, but to expect three such lightning strikes of fortune would surely be foolhardy in the extreme.
And then, as I handed my ticket to the man and waited for the little flappy barrier doors to open, I realised that not ten yards from me, wearing shorts, and staring vacantly into space, was Mark Heap.
Reader, I nearly cried.
UPDATE FOR NO REAL REASON: