It is true. I have started to look at supollard.co.uk. Study it, even. I am unable to explain why. I'll be sitting there, clicking about, and somehow inadvertently end up reading about A Song, A Frock & A Tinkle - the Su Pollard One Woman Show that toured the UK in the 1980s. Or reading up on the very latest in Su Pollard News ('Su Pollard will be appearing on Loose Women on July 12th!'). Or finding important Su Facts ('Su came second to a singing Jack Russell on Opportunity Knocks!'). It is strange behaviour, and not at all becoming. I begin to realise that I will only be able to stop thinking about Su Pollard if I meet her.

'Maybe I should engineer a meeting,' I suggest to my wife, on our way home. 'After all, we've both been on Loose Women. We could talk about that for a while and then become great friends.'

'So you'd just knock on her door, and say, "Hi, Su, I've been on Loose Women, can I come in and talk about it?" She'd call the police!'

My wife is being silly. She knows Su Pollard would like that. She's seen her, too, just the other night, wearing fishnet stockings and laughing with three gay pensioners.

'You might need to find more in common,' she says.

And then, one day, I am in the newsagents.

It is 9.30, or maybe ten, on a Sunday morning, and I suddenly hear a very familiar voice behind me. It is Su Pollard. She is talking to an old man buying tobacco and she is being even louder than normal. She is telling the old man she's going to be on The Paul O'Grady Show soon, which is weird, because he hasn't asked. I freeze. What do I do? I could turn around and smile at her, but she's a bundle of energy and it's intimidating. And then she spots my newspapers. I am carrying the Observer and the News of the World.

'Oh, you like a bit of rubbish with your papers, do you?' she says, laughing, and I laugh back, a little too loudly. I want to say something back, but she's too confident and raucous and I can't think of anything, so I don't. Su pays for her things and then bowls out of the shop, waving at people.

That was my chance, I think, as I leave. That was my chance and I blew it.