SO THERE I was, frantically googling Deborah Meaden from Dragon’s Den to see whether I had in fact been insulted by a puppet or not.

And as I was doing so, I couldn’t help but wonder where my journalism career had gone so wrong.

When people ask why I became a writer I talk blithely about the excitement of meeting celebrities, the glamour of opening nights and, ahem, eating sandwiches over my keyboard.

After all this is Oxford for God’s sake, where the name culture was probably invented at a drinks party by some Victorian North Oxfordian (that’s before M&S made it fashionable of course) to aptly describe their social life.

So what was I doing in the basement of the New Theatre being insulted by a frisky puppet who is apparently addicted to porn?

As Trekkie Monster – yes, Trekkie Monster – from the Broadway and West End hit Avenue Q (see next week’s Guide) rubbed himself again and called me horny, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat while trying to think of a question that wouldn’t set off another intimate episode and questioned my reality.

Because really this wasn’t what I dreamed of when completing my dissertation, or swotting deep into the night for my journalism law exams (yeah, right), or practising for my 100 words a minute shorthand test.

And when Trekkie added insult to injury by saying, in front of everyone, I looked like Deborah Meaden from Dragon’s Den (trust me, there’s always a room full of PRs, PAs, press officers, TV cameras, radio guys, bloggers, photographers etc) and they all gasped in horror, while an expectant hush descended on the room, and they waited for my next move, I had to collect my thoughts.

For a start I didn’t know who Deborah Meaden was, luckily, so wasn’t sure how badly I was being insulted.

Secondly, did being insulted by a puppet count?

Would getting upset and flouncing off like Russell Crowe be more ridiculous because Trekkie was actually sat on someone’s hand?

And so I remained an abject professional and sat and tried to question the Avenue Q gang (have you ever tried to interview a puppet and look them in the eye?) while the wounded woman inside screamed blue murder.

It was only on returning to the office however, and chancing upon a picture of Deborah Meaden, that I wish I’d had my time again.

Hindsight is a dangerous weapon for a woman scorned.

If you, like me, don’t know who Deborah Meaden is, or more importantly what she looks like, let me fill you in.

Deborah Meaden was born in 1959 and looks like a battle axe in need of some time out with Trekkie and his horny hands. Need I say more?

“Darling it’s a puppet for God’s sake,” my boss cried out in exasperation when I explained the situation, stunned that my hardcore demeanour could be so easily cracked.

All I can say in the aftermath is, I know where Trekkie’s dressing room is, and whether he’ll still be smiling next time we meet remains to be seen. Maybe I am like Deborah Meaden after all...