I have nothing to hide.

This time last year I was much more an item of gossip in the office than I'd ever been. Now, I'm seemingly out of the running.

Naturally there are things I don't talk about, but that's out of respect for other people. But even so, I have nothing worth saying about my personal life, nothing worth sharing. None of the stories is salacious. There's nothing about whom I may have the hots for, just because I'm feeling cold.

Friday night in the Windsor Castle (former workplace of our kid and favoured haunt of Madonna) saw those present going through a list of colleagues' names in search of rumour and tittle-tattle. Not much was unearthed. The odd bit of who's seeing whom, but nothing groundbreaking.

And even though my fellow drinkers were observing gossip protocol of not talking about those present, no one was slightly interested in what was happening in my life. Partly because they knew they could get it here, but partly because they guessed there was nothing I felt the need to share.

My policy of not fancying people is obviously paying off. If only it wasn't such damn hard work.

I wish I had something to hide.