You know, if I'd ever thought about it before, I'd have flattered myself into thinking that I'm not the kind of girl who would be approached at the bar by a lean bald man carrying an inflatable sheep under his arm. Nor would I have thought that I'm the kind of girl who gets told by said man, with a crazed glint in his eye, that he loves me.
I would also not have imagined watching him get marched out of the pub by a tall, impassive, Senegalese barman. Or seeing him staring longingly in through the window from the pavement, still clutching his sheep, until it became obvious that I was not going to go outside until he went away.
It turns out, though, that I am that kind of girl. Happy Christmas to me!