"Hello. And what is it that you do?" she said quietly, shaking my hand.
At this point, I had several choices.
Many of them could be foolish, dangerous, definitely illegal, utterly, utterly stupid or so downright idiotic that people would know my name forever as "Mr Stupid".
"See that man there..." Mothers would whisper to their children, "It was him that did that thing: Mr Stupid.". There would be no reprisal.
"Ummmm." I murmured, hoping that the resonating noise in my throat would somehow magically stop time and give me room to think - or escape.
Still, no adjectives appeared. She peered up at me, trying to will me to form a sentence with her mind. The diamond twinkles in her wise old eyes were not helping.
"Well?" she asked, obviously getting quietly impatient.
"I make word..." I blurted. "Words... writing... write! Er, ... Streak?"
I perhaps put too much emphasis on the last word and I could see small flecks of spittle spray out and land on her face. I shrank and cowered away like an injured banana, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
"Oh God, Sorry.... so sorry.." I spluttered as the metallic taste of vomit rose in the back of my throat.
She just stared at me through stained spectacles.
"That, is not how one breaks the ice with er' Majesty..." said a gruff voice from behind me. She nodded and her guards closed in on me.
Definitely the wrong choice, Mr Stupid.