This week I’ve been mistaken for a vet, asked if I was called Ben and assumed to be Marcus Brigstocke. I had to answer no to all of these, but if I’d been paying attention I should have said yes. Imagine the conversations I could have had. The lady who thought I was a vet came rushing up as I was ambling along, wondering whether to have lunch and convincing myself it was too early for a glass of wine. Even though the sun was shining and after all, it’s 6 o’clock somewhere.

“I loved your talk!” she said, holding my arm as if we’d been friends long ago and wasn’t it remarkable to have bumped into each other after all this time.

“Er, which talk was that?”

“Well, about the animals! You were great!” She then proceeded to tell me some highlights of what I’d been talking about. When I explained I wasn’t the Supervet after all, she was unabashed. “Well, he was wearing quite a similar shirt to yours,” she declared, as if I might have expected this understandable confusion. “And he was a bit older than you – or is it a bit younger?”

I could see her anxiously trying to work out which one of these was the compliment.

What I should have said was something along the lines of, “Glad you liked it!” We could have had lunch or I might have been invited to open a farm, or give an afternoon seminar at a zoo. Although, at least remaining truthful meant she didn’t ask me to have a look at her poorly cat.

I’m not sure which Ben I was supposed to be, so if anyone knows any Bens I look like, please shout. And I should have agreed readily to being Marcus Brigstocke because how much fun would it have been to be whisked off to the Comedy Store event where he had to improvise brilliantly for an hour to a tent packed with very high expectations. Perhaps on reflection it was a sensible move to say – actually, that’s not me, but I think he’s over there.


Photo by Amy Kerridge