Somehow the chocolate brown brigade worked out they'd get the best of the deal if they tackled me on the platform of the Spiritualist Church; that there really wasn't much point haranguing me in the street or disturbing me at the library, because I couldn't carry the messages then. Not unless they happened to be for the librarian or the caretaker or the woman on the checkout.
You have to be careful. You can't just blurt it out in the supermarket. One minute they're there packing up someone's groceries with a 'can I help you' customer service smile and the next they're hearing, from a perfect stranger, that their Uncle Neville was actually their dad. The world tilts sideways. They might fall off.