Nick Grimshaw

I turned to my partner and I said, oh, she's all right, because we hadn't actually seen what had happened, just the aftermath of a little topple and a few runaway groceries.

As we walked past, the cyclist hopped back on, thanked the woman who'd helped her, and peddled off in front of us.

And that's when it hit me.

She turned her head slightly, and I suddenly stopped in my tracks, pointed out like an awestruck tourist, and blurted, completely dumbfounded, That's Angela Hartner!

What?

!

What, you were the... It was me knocked off my bike.

You were knocked off your bike?

Yeah, just before Christmas.

Artistic license.

Yeah, artistic license.

One jar.

Well, Hannah said, for the rest of the trip, and I mean the entire rest of our London trip, I kept saying, I can't believe I saw Angela Hartner on a bike after a topple.

What are the chances?

I listen to her and Nick all the time.

I sincerely hope you're absolutely fine, Angela, and that the jars survived their brief moment of independence.

Anyway, made my day, week, and possibly my year, not any potential Angela injury or the inconvenience, but the sighting of an absolute icon.

Oh, bless her.

What happened?

Did someone just open the door?