Just joking. Please don’t email me if you’re into feet because in truth mine aren’t very lovely. This is probably too much information but a few years ago, when I was having a pedicure, the poor soul who was having to deal with my feet asked if I used to live in a hot country. ‘Yeah, in the Gulf. How come?’ I replied. She could tell, she told me, because my feet were so tough, indicating that I’d lived somewhere where I always wore flip flops or spent a lot of time without shoes at all. So hopefully that’ll put the fetishists off. Anyway, this is a long preamble to the point that I wrote about my gap year tattoo for the Tel recently. HERE it is. And pity poor John, one of the Telegraph’s photographers, who had to sit on my terrace and photograph the tattoo. ‘I used to want to be a conflict photographer,’ he said, as he focused in on my right foot. ‘And I used to want to be a war reporter,’ I told him, as I pointed my toes at his face. Ah well. We can’t have everything in this world, can we?