'Hello, I'm Oliver Letwin,' he says.
And I nearly say 'Yes, I know, although you look different without the horns, moustache and specs.' But I don't. Obviously.
'Can I count on your vote?' he says.
'Well, at least one half of the household,' I say.
'Your husband? Are you wavering?' he says.
'You could say that,' I say, and then blurt out: 'I think you're a great constituency MP' as if I've got George Clooney on the doorstep.
Mr Letwin smiles sweetly. He is a very nice man, even if he did write the Conservative Party manifesto.
I shuffle, we both look embarrassed, the clock strikes thirteen and a tumbleweed blows past. Just as I wonder what to say, the frozen-moment chasm is filled by the UKIP ice cream van going by, flags-a-waving, a military march-a-blaring.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x