Unwittingly, I was the star of a new reality television programme. A huge crowd of brash, rowdy women picked on me so mercilessly that the pitying viewers nominated me as a candidate in the general election. Not only did I win a seat in Westminster, but as soon as I left the show I was expected to move into 10 Downing Street as the new Prime Minister.

Of course, stuck in the house, I had no idea of any of this. My only thought was how to escape my tormentors. Would the small group of feminists welcome me?

I envied Paddington Bear when I saw him cross the lawn on his way home one evening. If only I were a couple of inches shorter. Then I would have easily fitted into the Paddington costume and found a much more comfortable career in television.