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It wasn't exactly accidental - my landmark 100 days on the diet were up and although I was planning to continue further, I had been warned that this week's filming was going to involve some physical effort and so had made a conscious decision to eat proper food just for that week.

As it also coincided with my friend Gina (my favourite drinking partner and a pub landlady to boot) visiting from Devon and joining me on location, I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb and decided that once in the hotel in Caernarfon, the gloves were off. I was going to have a drink (or ten).

It all started so well. We had a pleasant dinner in the hotel restaurant, all together round a big table. I was a bit disappointed that Iolo was seated a way off, but glad to have a chance to see Gina interacting with the ³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ team - I had promised her that the trip would be a fun experience, even if she were not allowed to come up Snowdon with us for the filming (which she wasn't!).

As the evening wore on, the booze started to take effect (3 months of sobriety and a bottle of wine on a very empty stomach = a bit of a recipe for disaster!) - even from a distance Iolo's legs were looking increasingly appealing and my poor, alcohol-soaked brain started to think it was a shame that they were so totally out of bounds. So close and yet so far. Then Abul, who had been sitting in between us, decided a late night swim was in order - but not before he had rather generously arranged a round of champagne, to celebrate the wedding anniversary of Bethan, the programme researcher.

Seeing my chance and after several large glasses of wine, less than half my dinner, the champagne and a tiring day, it suddenly seemed (so I'm told - I don't actually remember!) like a very good idea to close the gap between my chair and Iolo's and treat the poor man, to what used to be, some of my best chat up lines. I dread to think what I said, but it would have been very, very lame indeed (and very unfaithful to the spirit of tongue-in cheek banter Iolo and I have been sharing over the last few weeks). The thing with me these days, I'm all talk and no trousers. If any man were to turn round and take me seriously, I'd run a mile!

Luckily for me, when push comes to shove, he is not only very gallant generally, but clearly a master at swerving a curve ball. He very politely excused himself - a nature documentary he wanted to watch in his room apparently - and so any further next day blushes on my part, were spared.

I've got a nasty feeling that I put my hand on his thigh, mind. And he was wearing shorts - well, he would be, wouldn't he?