I don’t want to over-glamorise myself, but I need to explain that I was once nominated for that singular honour, a Welsh BAFTA. (And, before anybody starts, I am very much aware that it should really be a WAFTA. Not a Welsh British Film and Television Award. Ridiculous. And, certainly, never a TAFTA.)
But the point is that I was called upon to brave the Cardiff Media Circus. I hate red carpets. I am the celeb they lower the cameras for.
All five members of the Welsh fourth estate outside the handsome Millennium Centre completely ignored me, until - as is often the case - I had already got one foot in the foyer.
At that point a hearty, traditional Welsh greeting rang out. 'Oy!'
I turned.
‘Oy, Griff. We had better have a few words.’
It was the walk of shame. I had had a picture and they didn’t.
