Brie Encounter

Walking past the cheese counter in Waitrose, and a voice says...

"Mike? It is Mike, isn't it?"

I admit it. Why shouldn't I? It is true, and I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. Not recently, anyway.
It is a woman of a comparable age, vaguely familiar, who has attracted my attention.
"How are you, how have you been, it's been ages," she continues.
"Yes, but I'm sorry, I can't quite..."
She smiles understandingly, but offers no further clues.
I persist. "I am terrible with names."
She doesn't offer hers.
"You will have to remind me - how is it we know each other?" I enquire.
She continues to smile and keep her own counsel.
"Could it be through the Choir?" I venture.
"St. Mary's?" she responds.
It seems she does sing with a choir. But not the Harrow Apollo Male Voice Choir to which I once belonged. Unsurprisingly, really.
"Did your husband play rugby for Roxeth Manor?"
She denies the existence of a Mister Mysterwoman.
"Phoenix RFC? The Questors? The Open University? Ealing Arts Club? The Malcolm Saville Society? The British Science Fiction Association?" I am grasping at straws now.
She nods reassuringly, as if this random collection of organisations doesn't mark me out at some kind of intellectual gadfly. "None of those," she says, continuing "Wasn't it though Wager Street Social Services?"
"No, I haven't ever had anything to do with the Social Services." (As if!)
At this point my spouse turns up. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"Yes, this is.. an old acquaintance. My wife."
They nod cooly at each other.
"Anyway, nice to see you again, we must keep in touch."
"Yes, we must. Keep well."
We walk away and my GLW gives me that look that says "I don't know what you do, but I do wish you'd stop doing it."

And I still don't know who she was...