...with the now awfully dated (but relatively recently bought for a huge sum) Sony Mini-Disc player. London's Blackfriars Bridge, The Stones again and Soul Survivor. Restrained the MJ strut only by allowing myself a few poorly disguised Keef-alike (who's going to be first with, 'I think you'll find it was Mick Taylor and didn't Keef play bass on that one'?) swings of the arm as I chopped out the chords.
I once stood behind a highly animated and head-phoned young man on The Drain platform at Waterloo Station one morning and could only think that he was on his way into work in The City having just been ejected from the Ministry of Sound.

when growing up on the IOW was to position myself near a brass band playing in a seaside pavilion and watch people walking nearby. If it was a 4/4 march being played passers-by could not help walking in step with the music.

(we had to make our own entertainment, you see)

Shuffled ipods are a killer for this effect. I'm ambling along with some ambient nonsense burbling away and then it shifts to a track off of Ill Communication. Suddenly my legs think I'm John Shaft, while the rest of me remains the same gangly white bloke.

There is, of course, the related problem (or delight) of a track coming on your pod and suddenly you're in your own movie: that passing Citroen conceals a hitman; the old lady at the pedestrian crossing is carrying a dagger; did that curtain just twitch? Clearly I have far too many John Barry numbers on mine.

For me it is reggae which throws me. I was standing in the queue to buy a sarnie and "Roots man skanking" by Bunny Wailer popped up - next thing I was also skanking, discretely, all the way to the till.

A few weeks ago I was sitting on a train listening to 2001 by Dr Dre on my MP3 player very loudly. I am one of those desperatly sad middle class white men who gets pumped up by listening to black men shouting about killing each other and so as I stood up to get off at my platform there was more than a little swagger to my step. I nonchalently stepped off the platform like a gangsta about to pop a cap in the ass of any passing bloods or crips - but my foot failed to make purchase with the platform edge. Snoop Doggy Dogg's nasal verbal gymnastics were the last thing I heard as I slipped inelegantly between the train and the platform. As I clambered out to a concerned waiting crowd of what seemed like about 2,000 people I gruffly mumbled assurances as to my well being and leapt on my bike to go home and nurse a grazed knee, a cracked rib and a wounded 'Big Ego'.

A couple of times, Thin Lizzy's finest has managed to soundtrack the precise moment when I've stepped into a public building. For some reason it manages to feel like I'm walking into a party and being greeted by cheers and a sea of smiling faces. Except everyone else is, of course, oblivious to this. For a few seconds (and this never happens for me in any other circumstances) I'm striding around as if I own the place.

Not that I go often, but Mrs Path likes me to keep a modicum of trim. Again, courtesy Mr I-pod, I am led into bizarre flails of arms as I effortlessly switch, on the treadmill, between sax, axe, keys and drums, often whilst singing also. Multi-tasking or what! And then I have to play melodeon, dobro and fiddle as well...

by Charlie Rich makes me strut uncontrollably.

I've mentioned this track before for its strut-inducing properties.

'Screams "Loaded" for swaggering, N.W.A.'s "Straight Outta Compton" for bad-assed attitude and De La Soul's "Magic Number" for grinning like a loon.

Another syncopated song that hinders me in walking from A to B efficiently.

It comes on The MP3 and i robot away like a lunatic.Very embarrassing on the Metro.

I've made sure this song isn't on the ipod for that very reason - also "oops upside your head". Rowing is frowned on on the tube.

Happened only this morning when Chic came on the 'pod. Instantly transformed into a Studio 54 groover despite the fact I was walking down Grafton Street.