I’M ALWAYS on the lookout for things to write about in this column and have taken to jotting down ideas as they come to me.

Some weeks I have plenty, others not so many. But invariably something happens and I think ‘A-ha! That’s next week sorted!’ One such occasion occurred as I was getting my hair cut last week. Definite column fodder.

“Is it the usual trim and colour?” asked my hairdresser.

I nodded, already feeling blissful at the thought of a bit of pampering.

“Great,” she said.

Then she leaned in towards me and at that point the appointment took a turn for the strange.

“Did I ever tell you about my ex-boyfriend who I had to get a restraining order against?”

I shook my head.

“He got the waitress from the cafe next door pregnant and when I broke up with him he stalked me for months.

“I thought I’d tell you because he’s just pulled up outside in his car.”

I turned nervously to the window and gulped.

An innocuous-looking car was parked across the street and I could just make out the outline of someone sitting in the driver’s seat. “I don’t think you need to worry,” she said calmly.

“He wasn’t ever violent towards me.”

That didn’t allay my fears, and over the next hour I became a quivering wreck, jumping at every single noise that I heard outside.

I was also worried for my hairdresser, who is lovely, and who kept darting glances out of the window.

Every so often I’d dare to look outside myself, and would see the shadowy figure still in situ.

Finally, my hair done and my nerves in shreds, I pulled my coat on and zipped it up with shaking hands.

As my hairdresser handed me my till receipt she suddenly laughed.

“Oh I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost as an aside, “I misread the car registration and the driver outside is actually an old man waiting for his wife to have her hair cut! Oops!”

I smiled weakly and wobbled out of the door with fetching blonde highlights and frazzled nerve endings.

‘Ah well,’ I thought. ‘At least that’s next week sorted.’