......so it appears. Down at the gym this morning I'm sitting at a table in the gym with Tristan, who is five and the son of friends. As I'm reading the Telegraph, he is busy experimenting intently with his latte in a tall glass and being observed by me out of the corner of my eye, keen as I am to get an insight into the mental workings of a small boy. So far he's stirred in eight sachets of sugar, two of mayonnaise and one of mustard and tasted his concoction after each new addition. He winced, paused, stared reflectively into thin air and then bawled across the table, "Tony" "Yes." "Are you a lesbian?" Some questions, especially when they are so out of the blue, are best answered with helpless gape. The lady at the next table coughed, spat some of her mouthful of latte all over the Daily Mail, and desperately tried the control her mirth -unsuccessfully it seems, as the rest came out of her nostrils and onto the toddler on her lap. I gathered my few thoughts. "Tristan, do you know what a lesbian is?' "Yes, someone who likes girls." Well he's nearly there and I tell him so. "Well that's almost right and no I'm not." This seems to satisfy him and he added a sachet of salt while he processed this information. Then I got to thinking and duly took a mental inventory of myself. I do like girls. I have a hairy chin. I have hairy legs. I'm ugly. Maybe I am a lesbian?