I have been managing to get out and about a lot lately. Even when the snow was deep and crisp and even. The Pilot [my husband] had been in one of his "I have to be alone" moods and so I bravely accepted invitations as a lonely girl.

One of the invitations was to the local education society to which I have to belong. At the knees up afterwards, I was plonked between two men - Clive the woodcutter (well that was what he reminded me of, long beard and dirty fingernails) and Jonathan the socialist teacher and revolutionary.

Clive the woodcutter was definitely odd. I could tell it would be a riveting conversation when I asked him if he had travelled far. Apparently he comes from somewhere around Dorking. He went on to explain all of the little road numbers he had travelled before he got to the big M23. I tried to pay attention in case he asked me afterwards to recite them. Yes, he seemed that stern. I bet the kids in his class always got good grades for fear of him taking his log splitter to them. After a conversation which lasted about four minutes but which I could have sworn was about 44, I knew all about the different logs used in log burning stoves; which log splitter to use for which piece of wood; how to achieve a long lasting fire without constantly putting wood on it and we debated why one of his hens had gone broody. The bloke wonders why he lives on his own!

I thought I might have more luck with the guy on the other side. Apart from the fact that he had obviously bought his shoes in Debenhams, I thought he looked quite normal. Wrong! Jonathan was a lecturer in European politics or politics of some description. I said I didn’t think that there were any politics at the moment (bearing in mind the government of the day) and he offered a sneer and said that was a typical reply from someone who knew nothing about politics, and that they were always in a state of flux. And then he compounded his rudeness by suggesting I was a Daily Mail reader.

He also said he didn’t have time for relationships and enjoyed living on his own - and ironing.

Luckily lunch silenced us both, but I could see he was really retreating to come back with more socialist swipes. He looked at my shoes and asked me what I had paid for them. By now I had got the gist that he wasn’t asking out of politeness but in some bizarre economical equation to prove how many mouths he could feed in Ethiopia with one pair of my Pradas. I suggest he go and study my website to see exactly where we did contribute to charities.

Round Two and he was back for more. " Okay" he said " Lets have your views on Cuba" and he stared at me intently. Now here was a chance for me to redeem myself in the socialist revolutionary's eyes and say something of merit. " Oh" I replied airily " Its quite obvious they are American backed".

It went quiet around the table. I realised I had made an enormous faux pas and instead of seeming learned and cool had come across not as a Daily Mail reader but certainly one who consumes The Star.

I didn’t expect to hear from Jonathan again, but he had obviously gone home and checked my website to see if indeed I did give to charities. He sent an e mail, which simply contained this link.