I've Become That Person Who Talks to Strangers—And It's Brilliant
I was standing in the queue at Sainsbury’s last Tuesday when I did something so profoundly out of character that I briefly considered abandoning my shopping and starting a new life under a different name. The woman in front of me had chosen the exact same ready meal I’d just put in my basket. Chicken tikka masala. Green label. The one you can trust not to ruin your evening. Without thinking — without even a rehearsal run in my head — I said out loud: “Good choice. That’s the best one.” I did not whisper. I did not mutter it into my sleeve. I did not pretend I was talking to the chicken. I said it to her . This is the sort of thing that, historically, should trigger a national emergency. A sharp intake of breath. Possibly a letter to the council. She turned slowly, as people do when they’re deciding whether this interaction will end in a mild apology or a police statement. Then she smiled. Not a polite smile. Not the tight, apologetic British half-smile. A full one. Th...

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