The more I think about it the stranger what happened yesterday seems. Lyn had a concert yesterday with the Paraorchestra, and, not wanting to be left home alone all day, I went with her. My chairs are still broken, so once again I was walking; it kills my feet, but even so it’s definitely better than staying at home twiddling my thumbs. So we both got up early and set off for the queen Elisabeth hall on the south bank, taking the bus then the tube.

It was quite a long day. We had to be there by nine, but the gig itself wasn’t until about seven in the evening. That meant a day backstage for me and our PA John, talking to people, using my Ipad and, in john’s case, making boxes out of leaflets (his new obsession to replace cigarettes). I get on well with the Paraorchestra guys and, although I don’t play, I think I’m seen as something of an honorary member, so it was okay. Now that I’m the boyfriend of a megastar, I suppose I better get used to hanging around in green rooms and back stage.

However, just before the show, something very uncanny happened. The artists bar was by then doubling as the accessible bar. At one stage a lady in a wheelchair came in to ask if there were any tickets left. At first I took little notice of her, but then I realised that she was Australian and her name was Stella, and I suddenly had the oddest hunch of my life. About seven years ago, an Australian lady called Stella used to comment on my blog, and I suddenly felt that this was the same person. Now that I think about it, it seems laughable: there must be many disabled Australians called Stella. The chances of this being the same person were tiny, but I was so taken with the idea that they could be one and the same that I just had to ask.

Yet that is precisely who it turned out to be. Before I could ask her, she was whisked away to the performance, but later I had a chance to chat to her. I showed her my blog on my Ipad, and, to both our astonishment, she recognised it! It was one of the oddest moments of my life. She is here covering the Paralympics for ABC Australia. That I just bumped into her, and recognised her from such scant details, is truly, truly uncanny. Where but in London could something like that happen?

The show itself went well, apparently: I couldn’t see it as all the tickets were sold. I stayed backstage, bought myself a beer, and tried to calculate the probability of what just happened while I waited for my megastar to return.