So, it would appear my baby is developing into a bit of an odd-ball.

I keep catching her doing rather strange things. Like popping bits of food into her nappy, in case she gets peckish later on. Or gurning. She loves to gurn.

She’s also taken to falling into an immediate trance at the sight of a lit candle, hippy that she is.

The thing is, I have a feeling this behaviour may develop a little further. I’ll let you into a little secret about me: I was a rather “quirky” child. My mother maintains that I was “weird”, but I prefer “quirky”.

I was a show-off (surprised?!) and loved to dance around in my tutu putting on shows for anyone willing to watch. But I was also a bit sensitive. And when I say sensitive, I mean, well, strange.

I went through a bit of a superstitious phase when I was about seven. It involved puffing my cheeks out like a pig, holding my nose and twirling on the spot. I did it everywhere. Before walking through doors, walking over drains, standing up, sitting down. If it involved moving from one spot to another, I had to do the cheek-puffy-nose-holdy-twirly-thing. And to this day, I have no idea why.

I can vividly remember being with my dad in a busy supermarket and performing my little routine before walking through the automatic doors. I expect he was creased with embarrassment, but I didn’t care. In fact, I thought it was perfectly normal.

It doesn’t end there. I also had imaginary friends. Perfectly normal, I hear you say. But I took it further. My “friends” were actually an imaginary mother and imaginary sister. And their names? Ampy-Soogal and Ampy-Rollo. Again, no idea.

The list is endless, really. I won’t bore you any further. Except to admit one final piece of quirkiness: every Saturday morning while watching Going Live, I blew Phillip Schofield a kiss. Why? Because I thought he was my dad.

Strange child.