I am a bit crap at keeping secrets. If I have some exciting news, and I absolutely positively cannot let people know for one various reason or another, I feel as though I may explode. It is easier for me to just try and avoid those people, to not talk to them at all, than to talk to them and have to keep my secret. I’d rather cross the road and pretend I didn’t see them than make eye contact and start small talk when they say ‘so what’s going on with you?’

So yes, I have a secret. And I can’t tell you, no. This thing is currently occupying 85% of my brain. And no, before the inevitable 30 people ask, I am not with child, am not trying to get pregnant and haven’t suddenly popped out a small person without even realising I was up the duff in the first place. In fact, if someone finds Cletus the foetus anywhere near my birth canal, it’s because he’s the best ever at hide and seek.

This is as much as I can tell you.

Which isn’t very much, I know.

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