I'd just been to see the latest James Bond, and was now wandering through a department store, ruminating to myself about how everything in "Spectre" - script, music, acting, colour - appeared to be from the nineteen-sixties.
I reached up to a rack of about twenty pretty t-shirts. I swear all I did was lightly finger the material of one particular shirt.
The entire rack fell to the floor. I was standing in a puddle of clothes hangers, cloth, and a long heavy-looking metal rod.
Not that I was unfamiliar with the situation. My five readers may remember the same thing happened to me last July-ish with half a dozen wheelie suitcases at another department store?
I was obviously going to be in this shop's camera system, too. Sigh. I rather expect my stunned expression to pop up, in a few years' time, on AFV (The International Edition).
I shot up my hand with alacrity to let the staff quickly hone in on me, and they were full of apologies. I'd figured I'd be chastised.
But I do believe that things come in threes, right? I have no doubt whatsoever that when I walk into my next department store, the theme from "Jaws" will be playing in my head; I'd better not touch anything.