We were on our way to the cinema. We used to go once a month and watched whatever was showing at matinee. We never checked first and never ever thought about not going in, regardless of what was on. We always took the same route from her house. It wasn't the shortest route by any stretch, but it was a nice route. The streets we took had trees and were quiet. Sometimes we stopped at one of the neighbourhood cafes and got a something for the screening. She always told me stories. There were a number of stories that she liked enough to tell over (and over) again. And the bookshop story was one of these, it took us from door to door on more than one occasion.

It was in the days when you had to sign a receipt when you used your debit card. You know before the chip and pin machines? You signed on the line, and the cashier would check your signature against the one on the back of the card. My signature has not changed since I was 12, although occasionally there is a flourish of unwitting expressiveness and I do a kind of last letter swirl. I always surprise myself when that happens. But that's another story.

Well, the queue was easily ten long and the young man immediately ahead of me, he was maybe 17, was hugging a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I watched him unthinkningly rub his thumb back and forward over the raised letters of the author's name. And I remembered reading the book for the first time. I forgot the sluggish queue and lost myself for a few moments of Holden Caulfield reacquaintance. I was still absorbed in thought when it came to my turn to buy. I handed over my book and handed the cashier my card. She asked me to sign and as I automatically wrote I suddenly realised that I, having the same first initial letter as the author, had begun to autograph my receipt JD Salinger. I think that I had got to the n. This was more than a flourish of swirl. In a flash I thought I could be JD Salinger, everyone knows that he is a recluse, most people would guess that he's around my age and perhaps most people don't know that he's a he. I confidently handed back the chit and with a stroke of luck the cashier was more focused on the still lengthy queue. They looked at the back of my card, looked at the little bit of paper, compared the two and still didn't notice the signature discrepancy. I am JD Salinger and you are a phony.