It was Friday morning, in Brighouse. I had been swimming and I was sitting in the cafe area of Brighouse Pool waiting for the GLW who was attending a Yoga class. I glanced down at the table and what I saw stopped my thought processes in their tracks. A cold shiver went down my spine and somewhere in the distance a cockerel whistled. I did a double-take and pinched myself with a fervour that made me wince in pain. Someone had recently been sitting here. Someone had just consumed a packet of potato crisps. And someone has controlled the ever-expansive cellophane wrapping by tying it neatly in a knot. Until that moment I genuinely believed that I was the only person in the western world to do that. But here was evidence that I was not alone. It was like Stanley bumping into Dr Livingstone in a supermarket car park.