Here’s some silliness:
While driving home though West Yorkshire one afternoon, we pulled up to a light. It was quite hot so I had reclined my seat a bit and was resting my bare feet through the window on the wing mirror (I was in the passenger seat, obviously). The driver of the car in the lane next to us was an older gentleman who smiled when I glanced at him. I leaned down to adjust the radio, and the man reached over and tickled my feet, which made me jump. I called out to the driver of my car (for protection? I don’t know–was the man’s unsolicited tickle actually a type of assault?) and just as I cried out, the driver of my car (oblivious to the tickling incident) yelled out, “That’s Bumble!” certain he had seen one Mister David Lloyd driving past us. All in all, it was an odd wait at an intersection (sorry, junction), and I presume as time goes on and the anecdote morphs, it will eventually be a case of Bumble being the cheeky tickler.