SOMEONE approached me in the supermarket the other day.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the sort of approach most women my age long for (tall, dark, handsome man, with offer of country house, Caribbean holidays and lifelong devotion), but a woman asking whether I would like to answer some questions about biscuits.

At first I was slightly insulted. Did I look like the sort of person who lived on Jammie Dodgers and Bourbon creams?

But then, to my relief, I realised I was in the biscuit aisle and, as the woman explained, I was part of a piece of UK-wide research for a leading confectioner. Or something along those lines.

Being approached by a stranger wishing to glean information about something is always slightly disconcerting. Particularly if, like me, you are just a tiny bit paranoid. It throws up questions like "Why me?" and, "Do I look like someone with time on their hands?"

I suppose if I had their job I'd also gravitate towards the woman shuffling about in the sloppy cardigan and frayed mules, with her hair scraped back in a scrunchie, as opposed to the one in the pin-stripe boardroom suit walking purposefully with a briefcase.

Being an accommodating person, I always like to oblige, and was happy to chat for ten minutes on tricky subjects such as whether I think a cracker is a biscuit.

I'm also quite happy to help people who ask directions, although they probably live to regret asking me. My mind often goes blank, as I umm and ahh for a good 15 minutes before remembering.

And when advising motorists, I often get half-way through describing the route, then remember a quicker one, only one that turns out to be 50 times more complicated. This usually leads to the driver having to find a piece of paper to write down a lengthy series of manoeuvres down side streets, back alleys and culverts. Then, after 30 minutes, I'll decide it's too complex and revert to Route A'.

I don't like being stopped by people asking the time. Perhaps I've watched too many episodes of Crimewatch, but I'm always suspicious of strangers asking this simple question, especially adults. It doesn't happen often, but when it does I always assume there is some sort of distraction situation going on, whereby one gang member grabs my attention, a second ferrets through my bag, and a third hits me over the head with a rifle butt.

There are plenty of clocks around, after all, so the time is a relatively easy thing to find out.

I also try to avoid those smiley women who come over all innocent with a series of questions about your likes and dislikes before zooming in for the kill, and forcing you at Biro-point to sign up for a catalogue. They always home in on me - I must look like I need a new wardrobe.

And I hate being asked for money "for the bus fare home" by people who clearly don't believe that you're very sorry but you "haven't got a penny", when you're standing there with bulging carrier bags in your hands.

Strangers take heart, however, it is not only you who might get short-shrift when asking for something. My own children approach me all the time for food, clothing, and cash - I send them packing too.