Sometimes you have to take what you read in this column with a pinch of salt, but all of the following is true.

Last Saturday I cycled to Radnor Street Cemetery. I’m often there because of my interest in local and family history, and because I am helping to organise an open day there, this Sunday.

By coincidence, I once lived opposite the cemetery gates in Radnor Street, and – another coincidence - my mother was born in the same street.

Every time I go along there I naturally glance at my old house, where my wife and I lived when we were first married, and this time I spotted a ‘For sale’ notice in the garden.

Then, I confess, I had a wicked thought.

Curious about what the place is like now, feeling sentimental for the home we haven’t set foot in for 25 years and because I am a nosy so-and-so, I briefly considered posing as a potential buyer so I could have a sneaky look around the old place.

But only briefly. That would have been mean.

Later on I was standing outside the cemetery chapel when a young couple cycled up and stopped to chat.

It’s normal for people to be fascinated to see inside the chapel, which is usually locked, but is opened for certain events, including monthly guided walks of the historic graves (every second Sunday of the month until October).

Then came a revelation as the couple explained: “We’re here to do some house hunting. As a matter of fact, we’ve just been viewing one we’ve got our eye on in Radnor Street.”

You’ve guessed it. They had been looking at our old house.

Of all the people in all the world for them to bump into, just two minutes after leaving the property, it was me, the bloke who bought it, 31 years ago.

I was glad to tell them how much we loved the house, and they were able to settle my curiosity about how it looks now by producing the estate agent’s guide, including lots of pictures, which they kindly let me keep.

It made my day and made me feel a bit guilty about thinking of pretending to be a buyer, but it also makes you think.

Outrageous coincidences like that make it seem like unseen forces are playing chess with us, and they seem to get a kick out of confounding us with inprobabilities.

Every time I or my wife have a birthday and we celebrate as a foursome with my brother and his wife, we think the same. That’s because we have only two birthdays between us.

I should add that the brother in question is my twin, so it’s not surprising we share a birthday, but it also turns out that our wives were born on the same day, in the same year, in the same town (Swindon).

If you think about it, twin brothers are probably going to end up with wives who are roughly the same age, so it’s hardly a million-to- one chance that they would turn out to be exactly the same age.

By the same token, there are various reasons and mathematical formulae to explain why former and potentially future owners of the same property shouldn’t be too surprised to bump into each other.

So, as much as we all like a nice coincidence, we shouldn’t be too shocked when they happen.

On the other hand, consider this: when I bought the house in 1984 it cost me £14,000, and we sold it in 1990 for £54,000. Now the little house’s asking price has grown to £157,500.

Blimey. God moves in mysterious ways.