Kirsty Bosley: No one else has the right to frighten me, regardless of their intention

Me? I avoid looking at them and start to concentrate on things I don't normally think about, like walking. So they're all effortlessly attractive, and I go sloping past them like someone in concrete-filled wellies.

If it's a good day, I might smile or meet their eye. I've never said 'hello' because that's just not a very British thing to do. That might actually explain why I'm single . . . Well, that and my inability to admit I'm ever wrong . . .

Anyway, I digress. Smiling is one thing, but the very last thing I'd consider doing when encountering someone wonderful is follow them down the street yelling things such as: 'Alright babe? Smile!' or 'Oi oi sexy!' I can't imagine why anyone would because, let's face it, there are more than a dozen compliments that spring to mind when you see someone you find attractive. Being a weird, shouty creep is not one of them.

It doesn't take the sharpest tool in the box to observe that I'm not a slamming hot babe. But even I have been shouted at by blokes in vans when I've been walking down the street. Almost every woman I know has experienced cat-callers, shouting to them from cars as they pass by. From wolf-whistles to the more sinister, intimidating yells, it's really not a great way of conducting your amorous advances.

I remember one specific time walking down my road after an evening beer at the local. Minding my own business, dressed in my usual T-shirt and jeans (not that my attire should matter), a car slowed down as it passed, stopping next to me. "Hello darling, where are you going?" asked the man inside.

I instantly started thinking about that time I got lost down a Wikipedia wormhole and found myself reading up on Ted Bundy. The relatively handsome, normal law graduate was all smiles in his VW Beetle, charming young ladies with his dazzling personality.

Feeling that I was likely to be stuffed into the car and strangled with my own socks, I quickened my pace on the one way road, avoiding conversation or eye contact. I wasn't interested, and would have thought that me walking like a bat out of hell away from the car should indicate this. I shouldn't need to justify my ignoring him. He'd stopped to ask me questions that at best were none of his bl**dy business and at worst were really unnerving and intrusive. What does it matter where I'm going, you weirdo?

I placed my keys between my fingers like some kind of makeshift knuckle duster in case he decided to get out of his car and further pursue me. Apparently, when it comes to chatting up scared-looking women in the street, one-way roads are no issue.

Slowly the man began reversing down the street until he was aligned with me once more. No other cars were in sight and by this point I had started to wonder whether I'd ever told anyone that I wanted Morrissey songs played at my funeral? That I didn't want to be embalmed? That I wanted to be cremated? Did anyone know these things (they do now, thanks news print)? Did it matter if my remains weren't discovered? Was I jumping the gun?

"What's the matter?" he asked, and I wanted to release a tirade of angry comments about his poor judgement of this situation. How would he feel if it was his mum walking along the street and a weird man reversed down the road to chat her up? Would he be happy if someone was to treat his daughter this way? Would he want his little sister talking to a strange man in a car? Despite all of these questions, I carried on walking, scared to goad him and nervous to cause any unnecessary trouble for myself.

I wasn't far from home and I didn't want him to see where I lived. I didn't want to start walking in the wrong direction, as it felt like a bad idea. "Leave me alone?" I asked, semi-politely, powering on. He laughed and I cringed. At last he changed gear and zoomed off up the road. I've never been very athletic, and have only ever really sprinted during an arcade game of track and field, burning a hole in my glove as I slammed the two 'run' buttons like the clappers.

But this was a different scenario altogether. What if he drove round again? What if he was mad at me for telling him to leave me alone? I gathered all of my energy and bolted, running like a maniac all the way home, checking over my shoulder the entire time, arms flailing like Phoebe Buffay.

It's likely that this man was just having a bit of fun. He'd seen a blonde walking down the road and decided to try his luck, in his mind teasing playfully. But for me, it was a terrifying experience, the likes of which is unfortunately not isolated or uncommon.

It's just one of a handful of times that I can recall when I've found myself in similar instances. Maybe I'm dramatic, or can't take a joke. But whose business is that when I'm walking down the road on my own? No one else has the right to make me feel frightened, regardless of their intention. I felt scared and that's normal.

Since this happened, I've started to get more taxis home. I'm apprehensive to walk down my own street at night, and often request my male friends escort me. It's sad, really.

I suppose I'm writing this in the hope that those who read it will question themselves before talking to someone in the street who is walking alone. There are acceptable ways of attempting to chat someone up. Smile at them, say hi. If you must compliment them, then go for something such as 'I like your dress' or 'your hair looks nice'. 'Alright gorgeous' or 'Hello babe, where you going?' is overfamiliar and just not cool.

Put yourself in someone else's shoes; it's just bad form. Surely no one ever got a girlfriend this way?