I seem to have become a food oracle. Every time my phone goes, it’s someone asking where to go to eat. Which is very flattering, but rather all consuming. And of course nothing is ever that obvious.

Where to go for your husband’s birthday depends on so many factors – how old are they, are they dull as ditchwater or real party animals? What food do they like? Are they rich, in which case Le Manoir, if not KFC obviously...

Ditto kids, vegetarians, special occasions and all other manner of food headings and criterias.

And when you do come up with a good list of options, they change their mind and go somewhere else entirely. “We just went to Pizza Express in the end,” they simper.

I also get a constant stream of personal opinions thrown back at me from anyone who has eaten anywhere, which is always good for research purposes, but it’s not my fault that the service was awful, the loo roll ran out in the ladies’ or that the chef had an argument with his girlfriend.

So when I’ve got a good long list of restaurant reviews under my belt, I take the weekend off and ‘slum it’.

And in case you were wandering where my ‘off duty’ haunts are, last week they were as follows – Subway – the best sandwiches on earth – load them up, pile ‘em high and then eat them in a layby on the way back from the gym. Did I just admit to that?

The Ovisher in Kidlington – delivered right to my front door and perfect for Saturday nights in with ‘him indoors’ – a household staple and my favourite curry house.

Cocos Royal in town – their Greek pizza is worth shunning George Street and walking those few extra yards for, and the children love it because they get to titter at the naked statues and spend the entire meal talking about bottoms.

And finally Brothertons in Woodstock; their spaghetti arrabiatta is perfect for hangovers and the kids love the place. It’s not particularly smart or contemporary but the pizza and pasta here is divine and the proprietors pretty much know us by name now, as we pay most of their mortgage.

Plus, a bit of name dropping while I’m at it. We spotted film director Sam Mendes and actress Rebecca Hall there last time we visited.

Oh the excitement, except no one else in my family even knew who they were, despite much whispered explanations in the toilets. Sigh!

However, now that Lewis is over I might have to stop dreaming about Lawrence Fox (did I just admit to that), get off the sofa and go and enjoy the English summer in all its glory instead. Oh yes, there isn’t one.

“Hello, is that The Ovisher......”