Five minutes before, Zoe was a few moments away from asking me for a coffee as we stood about a hundred yards from the coffee shop that would – or did, depending on your point of view and preference – soon become the background to Zoe’s smashing of that guy’s figurative melon.

We were back to five minutes ago now, and the cracks in the pavement were as non-existant as the mouthy teenage douche.

“Do you think I can get a coffee while we’re here,” she asked me, her voice as cool and calm as a cucumber in an earthquake-proof room. Or something.

This unnerved me quite a bit, and she’s since apologised about this incident, but that didn’t stop me shouting at her incredulously in the middle of the street.

“You’re asking for a COFFEE after what YOU just DID?!”

Her look of utter surprise wasn’t fake, I can tell you.

“Um…dude? Chill out a second, OK? What did I do?”

I was taken aback, again. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

Oh, boy, I thought.

“Let’s get a coffee. I’ll, uh, clue you in…”