There are a lot of things I’m ashamed of but none more so than my feet. Which is why I’ve resisted the temptation to roll up my trouser legs and dip my feet into those tanks of flesh-eating minnows, currently attracting foot fetishists to the Clarendon Centre.

Don’t misunderstand me – I have no fear of fish (unless it’s anything bigger than a McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish); rather, it’s the crowds of onlookers who stop to gawp at those brave enough to sling their sandals and dip their toes who scare me senseless.

I mean, given a choice, why would anyone volunteer, or in this instance actually pay, to have complete strangers stare, in earnest, at their feet?

All I can surmise is that they’re braver souls than me...

And incidentally, apropos of nothing, I met the Lord Mayor of Oxford John Goddard this week and, give him his due, not only was he very charming and considerate, but his breath too was equally as winning (trust me, no mean feat since, at the time, a crowd of us were huddled into the corner of an industrial-sized kitchen awaiting the outcome of a national curry cooking competition).

Interestingly, I found myself turning into something of a stalker when, last Tuesday, I happened to spot this year’s Mastermind winner wandering around the Central Library.

I didn’t know his name (I do now – Dr Ian Bayley, and I apologise for that oversight) but I had watched him win the coveted title and wanted to say ‘congratulations’.

Problem is, easier said than done.

The library was appropriately hushed and, in truth, I knew I’d sound terribly stupid if I just went up and blurted it out, so I did the next possible worst thing – I started to ‘shadow’ him, hoping I’d catch his eye.

Thankfully, this cat-and-mouse pantomime lasted no more than 30 seconds, tops, but I can’t recall the last time I ever felt so shifty.

Anyway, well done sir. We were were rooting for you.

And finally, last week, I inadvertently, and for no reason I can think of, walked into the office, interviewed people, chatted to a lady verger and shopped in Debenhams, without ever once realising my flies were undone.

Sounds so Carry On, doesn’t it?

And I suppose it is, but it is always mortifying, especially when a complete stranger brings it to your attention by signalling with their hands and a series of strange, bird-like nods of the head.

I just thank God I didn’t walk into Marks & Spencer like that. After all, they have standards.

Which brings me to my final revelation. On Saturday, I watched the Eurovision Song Contest.

Now I realise I’m supposed to try to make some kind of excuse, but I can’t.

I did it of my own free will, without any kind of outside coercion, and as far as I know I wasn’t suffering any kind of mental or emotional malaise.

And truth is – I loved it. Should I seek counselling?