“And finally...”

Those are usually the words that introduce the last item in the news broadcast - the skateboarding duck or ‘panda that can’t get a stiffy’ section. And I daresay those news items, designed to reassure you that after a half hour of war, insurrection, terrorism and incompetence that the world is fundamentally OK, inspired the skateboard sequence last year, and this reprise this year.

That and the fact that despite being a fat waddly 40 something I love skating.

Not skateboards. They only really appeared in the late 70s in Britain and I was a bit too old for them; they were the kind of thing irritating younger brothers would go for. Instead, I always fancied the idea of rollerskating and never did anything about it, until about five years ago.

I know - most people have a mid-life crisis by buying a sports car or a Harley. I got rollerblades instead.

They’re not as scary as you’d think, especially if you start off by taking lessons. I learned during the weekends with Citiskate at a sports centre in central London, and then moved on to evening lessons on tarmac in the deserted and painfully trendy Spitalfields market. And now, when the weather is OK, and I’m not rehearsing a show (broken limbs ruin your dancing ability I find) I love to go skating along the seafront in Bexhill or Eastbourne. Not Hastings - the surface there is dreadful.

If ever you’re on the prom at a seaside town in Sussex and there’s someone who looks like a cross between the Michelin Man and an urban warrior careering towards you, get out of the way. I’m not completely in control.