encounters with strange men

I was walking home from work in the rain when a car stopped and a man offered me a lift to the High Street. It was too dark to see clearly but it looked like my boss, who was over from Tooting that day. It didn't sound like him, admittedly, but I could hardly say no if it was: it would be impolitic. And why would a complete stranger offer me a lift? So I got in. It wasn't him.

Who was it? I have no idea. I comforted myself with the thought that it's only children who are forbidden to get into cars with strange men - this is one of the many freedoms granted to adults in a civilized society. And indeed, it all passed off very well. There was some general conversation about the weather, and the onset of Christmas, and then I was dropped off at the back of Marks and Spencers just like I asked.

Only later did the doubts start. I didn't look very closely at him – maybe he was naked from the waist down. Maybe he was nursing a massive erection. At the corner of my eye, I might have mistaken it for a gearstick. I'm very naïve about cars.

But there is no need to be so suspicious: I'm sure that the man was just performing an act of simple kindness. The weirdo.

It is not my first experience with strangers this year. When I went to see the revived Wicker Man at the Curzon Soho in October, a man sat down right next to me, even though the cinema was largely deserted. Then he offered me wine. After a brief hesitation I accepted. There was something about him that put me at my ease – maybe it was his use of the word 'wine'.

I spoke to him afterwards and it turned out he was someone. His name was Toby and he'd made a documentary called The Man Whose Mind Exploded, and now wanted to make a horror film set in Worcestershire. Probably I should have prolonged this encounter and got myself involved somehow, but it all seemed so unlikely. I never speak to strangers and feel at ease - maybe I was imagining the whole thing. But it turns out he has a Wikipedia entry, so must exist. Oh well. I 'liked' his documentary on Facebook, which is a pretty bold move for me. I haven't even seen it.

That's the great thing about the internet – you can stalk people without them even knowing about it. And it's so reassuring to know how many people out there are just dying to meet you – one cropped up in my junk e-mails at work the other day: 'Hullo sweet! Tell me more about your person.' Sure, 'sweet', what would you like to know? Shall we start with my bank details?