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Somehow and very indirectly this reminds me of a long ago encounter. I was selling tickets for a student theatrical production. Cash or cheques accepted - there wasn't anything else.

Paul Clarke@paulclarke.com

How I caused my extremely genteel secretary to explode (in ice-cold fury).

But a cheque alone was not to be trusted. If there were no funds, the bank would not honour it - and paying with cheques not wholly backed by assets was not unknown to impecunious students.

So cheques were only accepted if accompanied by a cheque guarantee card, which essentially committed the bank to paying even if the account owner didn't have the money. Everybody knew the drill. You write the cheque and give cheque and card to the person you are paying. Easy and quick.

But now a young woman was offering me a cheque, with no apparent intention of producing a cheque guarantee card. I looked at her and I looked at the cheque.

The first unusual thing is that it was drawn on Coutts, the bank for decidedly posh people. I got the impression that I was to take that as sufficient indication of her solvency such as to require no further enquiry. And it almost certainly was. But I asked to see her cheque guarantee card anyway.

It did not seem to her to be a request which was either expected or thought reasonable. She looked at me. I looked at her. Eventually, with slightly bad grace she rummaged in her bag and produced her card. I checked, as the process required, that names matched on cheque and card. They did.

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Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon on both. I took her cheque and gave her her tickets. She looked at me with utter disdain. And went on her way.