There's a woman in Caerwys that calls me Phil

There's a woman in Caerwys that calls me Phil. On my walks around the town I often meet a very nice woman with her two prize dogs. We pass the time of day; usual things like the weather or vet bills. This type of conversation has been taking place off and on for perhaps seven or eight years. For some reason from the beginning she started calling me Phil. Now I have a problem with names and would rather not use them until I get to know the person. I can't explain why. So I failed to correct her about the Phil thing. And after so many years it seems inconceivable that I should not have told her the truth. In the newspaper shop recently we happened to be there at the same time: 'Good morning Phil', says my cheery but unaware friend. The shopkeeper (who knows me well) looked bewildered, as well he might. So I am faced with a minor social dilemma: should I confess that my name is not Phil (nor ever has been)? Or should I carry on and for a tiny part of my life actually be Phil? Answers on a sealed down envelope.