Back to the Turtle!

I went out with a group of old friends on Saturday night, namely Dr. Lynne, Matt, Lee and his wife Kate, both of whom I haven't seen for over a year, and John Wild, who I've only seen occasionally in the past few years. We started off in our old haunt, The Coopers, which used to be a rock/goth pub but got prettified in the mid nineties, then went up London Street to the Sherpa restaurant for a curry, then rolled back down to the Turtle, where we proceeded to get utterly lashed. Last week must have been a duff one, clientele-wise, as it was a good, varied mix of people, including one spectacular Goth woman in full leather basque-and-boots getup. Towards the end of the night, three women were grinning at waving in my direction. I smiled back, but thought they were waving at someone else, so I ignored them. This pissed them off, apparently; When we were leaving, they said, 'Thanks for ignoring us!' 'What, me?', I said. 'Yes, we just wanted to ask if you were really Daniel Bedingfield'
What.The.Fuck?????????????/
DANIEL SODDING BEDINGFIELD?
My Arse. I have been compared to many famous people before, quite often insultingly - Emilio Estevez and Shaking Stevens come to mind. But this was taking the piss on a major scale.