It must I have been in the 1970s.
I was driving, in my battered Renault with a friend down a street at the back of Chinatown in Soho, when I noticed a Rolls Royce approaching in the other direction. Between us, a stretch of road too narrow for us to pass.
In my mirror I could see a couple of cars following me. I slowed down until the caught up and then led the convoy until my radiator and the Rolls' were in touching distance. The driver got out, and approached. My window was already wound down.
"What are you doing?" he asked, in a voice which appeared my suspicion of who he was. It was dark.
"It's a One Way Street" I told him, pointing to a sign he'd passed.
Soon he began to reverse. I moved forward, and the two cars behind followed.
Past the sign, he jammed on the breaks, jumped out his immaculate white car and approached my window again. By now I was certain - the man was Michael Caine - although I have to say, ten years later I read he had only then, at last, passed his Driving Test. So, he couldn't have been driving without a licence, could he?
Anyway, Caine or not, the guy said, "Next time don't tell someone it's a One Way Street when it isn't"
I remember, the line sounded clumsy, not the sort of line you'd give him in a film.
By some miracle I came up with a better one-liner of my own. "Next time," I said, "don't drive a white Rolls."
Back in his car, he reversed fast and noisily, almost into a lamp post.
