TAKING THE MICK: The Simply Red frontman
I'VE had a couple of embarrassing tumbleweed moments recently. You know, when you make what you think is a perfectly reasonable comment or observation, only to be met by cold stares from those around you.

It's my own fault because I decided to play Devil's Advocate by saying that Katie Price/Jordan, who visited Bournemouth a few weeks back, wasn't necessarily a bad role model for girls.

Global warming? I don't think so. In an instant the atmosphere around me turned distinctly frosty.

"But she's made her money herself and sex is used to sell everything these days - it's just that she's a bit more in-your-face than most" I trailed off.

"I mean, Heather Mills is trying to get millions from someone who made his money well before she met him, whereas Jordan's enormous assets are all down to her, and her plastic surgeon's, hard work."

It was an argument I wasn't going to win - a bell tolled, dust blew up in a swirl to reveal the tumbleweed coming to trip me up.

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Then not 48 hours later I did it again. Someone said they wanted a good picture of Mick Hucknall and someone else said impossible, there are no good pictures of Mick Hucknall and there was a general conversation about how awful Mick was and who on earth in their right mind could like Simply Red.

"I went to see them at Beaulieu a few years back and I really enjoyed it," I said, a bit tentatively. "He's got a really great voice, it was in the grounds of the house and the weather was glorious and I even danced," I admitted to the hostile faces staring at me. "'course, he does look a bit crumpled now, but it was a great night out."

Hmm. Don't think I convinced anyone on that occasion either.

I started to think about other occasions when I've made observations that have gone down like a lead balloon. There was the time I told a very nice Israeli boy that The Life of Brian was my favourite film (glares - disrespectful/blasphemous, Barbra Streisand in Yentl - now that's a great film).

Then there was the time I met up with a friend and her boyfriend, not having seen them for a few months.

She showed me some photos of a recent holiday and there were a few wedding pictures in there as well. Well, the bride looked not so much a meringue as a huge blancmange wobbling down the aisle. I mean, there was no doubt as to who had eaten all the pies.

"Who's that?" I screeched.

"My sister," said the boyfriend, icily.

"Well, when I get married, I want a bouquet just like that," I said, in the same screechy voice.

A vain attempt at a recovery, I admit, but I think I pulled it off.

As bad as the the tumbleweed moment, but in a different way because you soon become aware of how ridiculous you must sound, is the one-upmanship conversation.

Someone had a great weekend or went for a great meal or saw a great film and, for some reason you feel compelled to go one better.

We were talking about Cerys Matthews during I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.

"I saw her when she was in Catatonia when they played at Finsbury Park."

"Oh. I saw them at Glastonbury."

"I'll raise your Catatonia at Glastonbury with New Order at Reading."

"I'll raise your New Order with The Corrs at the Royal Albert Hall - on St Patrick's night."

But you can bet your life you're never going to impress anyone saying you saw Simply Red at Beaulieu...
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