I’ve always thought the title Man About Town a bit of a misnomer. Man About Mid-Morning and Afternoon Tea is far more accurate, because for as long as I can remember, I’ve always preferred mornings for socialising than any invitation after 4pm.

Which is why I’m delighted to attend breakfast get-togethers because any time between the hours of 5am and 11am I shine; between noon and 3pm I get by, and after that, frankly it’s a lottery as to whether Deal or No Deal or Eggheads will win the toss.

Nevertheless, this does have its advantages – especially from a health point of view.

I eat big between dawn and 10am, snack between then and 3pm and come the evening, you’d be lucky to get a lettuce leaf pass my lips. Which is why any dinner invitation always strikes terror into my heart.

Of course, it’s lovely to be invited out, but for someone who sees 9pm as late for a wild night out, it can prove challenging.

Naturally, if I am invited out I like to attend, but I find myself gearing up for it all day.

I’ll start by drinking high-protein drinks (the ones at the M&S outlet at Oxford train station are very handy) and only eat light ‘till the dinner begins (this means sushi and Sainsbury soups).

And when I arrive, which is normally between 7.30pm and 8pm, I go easy on the drink, but once the first course is served – or any course for that matter – I decide what the hell, I’m damned anyway, and so throw myself into the chilli or chicken casserole (two staples of nights out with friends, I find) and normally return home at 1am swearing I’ll never do it again.

Indeed, it normally takes me a good two or three days to recover.

But hey, we all have our crosses to bear, and the only time this idiosyncrasy of mine poses any problems is when I stay in B&Bs or hotels.

Breakfast then, even at its earliest, is only served from 6.30am onwards, which for someone who can consume an entire fried breakfast at 5am on the dot, can pose problems.

Normally – okay, 100 per cent of the time – I’ll be offered a continental breakfast as an alternative, but to me, a croissant and range of preservatives hardly constitutes an adrenaline-fuelled start to the day.

Sadly, by 9am, I’m normally too stuffed full of the day to eat, which I guess explains the lean physique, but total, utter and complete lack of muscle definition.

But that’s the way my body clock ticks and after 52 years, I really know no different.

Abroad however, it can be positively embarassing, especially in places like Spain, where most people don’t even think of going out until 10pm or 11pm. Staying there requires nerves of steel for someone with my constitution. On the other hand, paella is a lot easier to pick at without looking ungrateful than beef bourguignon...