He looked at me. Drawn like a moth to a light, I can’t help but stare back. I feel like we have a connection in that split second, as his twinkling sapphire eyes meet mine and the sun dully glints off his stubble covered chin.

Of course, walking the cobbled steps up to Camden’s Proud Gallery is tricky when your eyes are transfixed on the hot guy playing an acoustic guitar in the opposite direction.

Knowing that I now look like a crazy woman tripping over each step, I change my course and fly headfirst into a woman shrouded in plastic shopping bags. He’s definitely looking now. My cheeks burn a deep shade of red, and my brain screams at me “Get up, get up now!” Scrabbling for a foothold, I managed to make it onto my feet, and apologise to the now disgruntled woman.

He’s still looking but luckily has carried on with his songs. I play it cool. Walk to the bar, order a drink and pretend it never happened.