Driving home from Soho, London. The Finchley Road is busy, a huge McDonalds articulated lorry follows another truck, and these behind two double decker buses. As they manoeuvre they're taking up more than their lane, encroaching on my land.

I make a mistake, judge the lanes wrong, end up behind the lorry. A VW Polo nips by. But my Mini is smaller and easily jinks in behind. I follow at a respectful distance as the Polo deftly negotiates the rolling blockade. The driver has grace, and my appreciation. A style akin to my own.

The lights are red. The driver pulls up and I slip alongside, glance over. A woman, late 20s, smiling; a connection. We pull away together, jockeying for position. Pressing on and I pull away, cruising nonchalantly, deliberately. I get six or seven lengths ahead... then bam, red lights again.

I see her light pattern in the rear-view and in seconds she's alongside as we turn from one road to another. She's going my way. I make ground again and it's a full 5 minutes before I again see the angry glow of a bank of red. I consciously haven't let the gap get insurmountable; before I move off she's there again, diving between two cars to ensure her place at my side.

This time I get a megawatt grin and laughing eyes - at the next few stops a volley of surreptitious glances between us.

The penultimate roundabout on my journey arrives too soon. I sense her position, and we deliberately slow - make the paths we are about to take clear. She's alongside on the curve of the roundabout and we look over at each other as she peels away. Smiles. A spontaneous wave.

She's gone. The wave provides a satisfying conclusion. The short remainder of my journey spent with a silly grin.