The stories above remind me of a couple more, bit thread-creepy, but still:

In 1979, as a bearded student (clean-shaven in my passport photo), I flew from Bristol to Dublin, complete with guitar case in hand, to see my sister. The immigration officer studied my passport and asked if I played the guitar. That's not all. About 13 months later, as a clean-shaven worker, I made the same trip, with the same guitar and the same passport. The immigration officer asked "when did you shave off your beard?". Spooky.

And a memory sparked off by Ebbie's LLWOH story:

Years later, in a country pub, a plummy-voiced guy is studying the menu and commands the landlord "Charles, talk me through the baked salmon".

Charles, with completely straight face, says "Well, sir, we select a salmon, put it in the oven, and bake it".

PVG orders two, completely oblivious to the snorts of stifled hilarity around him.

You couldn't make it up.

Pete