I've just discovered that my true vocation in life is to be a stand-up comedian.

I know this because, during a moment when I was having a mini crisis of confidence over what I should be doing with my career, I did a little quiz on the BBC Talent web site - which is designed to help the corporation discover the next big thing for telly.

And this was the answer it threw back at me. The result surprised my husband when I told him about it later.

"But you don't even understand jokes," he pointed out rather scathingly, "never mind have a gift for telling them. In fact, I can't think of the last time you told a joke. How on earth did you get that score?

"It must have been the answer I gave to a question about where I'm most likely to be found at a party," I said.

"Which is where?" he prompted.

"In the kitchen - telling jokes to others."

"Really?" he went on.

"Well, I remember doing it once," I said, reflecting on a boozy evening of about ten years ago when three glasses of red wine swilling around in my brain had made me believe I was funnier than Jo Brand.

I recall people around me were laughing and, at the time, I attributed it to my witty repartee.

"Perhaps I should start giving some thought to my new career?" I said.

"Darling," my husband began gently. "I think you have a wonderful sense of humour, especially in an abstract sort of way.

"You seem to find the unfunniest things funny. But I don't think you should consider giving up the day job just yet."

Of course, the truth is I know full well I am not destined to be a successful comedian.

My husband is right when he says I don't understand jokes - largely his jokes, I should add.

And it's true I'm the one laughing alone in the cinema.

"What's funny?" my husband frequently asks when he hears me sniggering into my popcorn.

"His wife has left him for another man," I say, trying hard to answer without guffawing.

"And their house is about to be burnt down."

I also cannot tell jokes effectively, nor even remember any.

In fact, our three-year-old, Eve, has a greater repertoire than me, her favourite being: "How does an elephant climb a tree? With a ladder."

She has excellent timing, too.

She can tell this same joke, transposing the word "elephant" for any other non tree-climbing animal, three or four times in succession and raise a laugh every time.

And she also giggles helplessly at her daddy's jokes, which he finds gratifying and incontrovertible evidence that there is nothing wrong with his comedic powers, despite being barely able to raise a smile from his wife.

What this does show, however, is that the BBC still isn't proving terribly good at searching out true new talent.

To be honest, I was hoping the quiz would reveal I had a great future as screenwriter - the next Lynda La Plante maybe.

I have a few script ideas for gritty dramas involving social misfits and private investigators, which I was planning on sending off to programme producers.

I bet they'll write back offering me a top comedy slot on a Friday night.