BEFORE all Caroline Dutton’s regular readers jeer and throw stones at me, it’s OK I’m only here for one week.

You see my erstwhile colleague is at home this week in her sick bed, a victim of the curse of the congratulatory letter for having an entire year without a day off due to illness.

It’s as though as soon as the piece of paper touches your hand a parasite attacks your immune system.

The very receipt of the letter acts as a starting gun for the little germs to begin their race to win back some of the respect lost after 12 months of failing to lay you low.

Basically you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security, then when you least expect it, when you’ve let your guard down — wallop, you’re floored. The germs triumph.

And the curse isn’t a one-off phenomenon. Oh no, I’m not making it up.

I could list numerous examples of colleagues who sit smugly at their desks with their letters only to be struck down within days.

You think I’m jealous of their special letters from the boss don’t you, because I’ve never received one.

I must say I have always thought it a strange idea to be congratulated for not being poorly as though there’s some kind of choice involved.

But to be honest that’s not the reason I don’t want one, it’s because I’m scared of the curse.

So being landed with the task of being a guest columnist for the week poses the predicament of what type of columnist I should be.

Should I be a worthy voice of authority and comment on politics, spin doctors and the implications of the credit crunch? Yawn. That’s hardly original.

OK, how about being a more frivolous, chatty friend who keeps you company as you flick through the paper with a brew, gossiping about Victoria Beckam’s ever shrinking waist and ever-growing heels?

And then there’s always the subject of the latest shocking fact of the week — like I heard yesterday that even a little tipple can pile on the pounds.

For example the average wine drinker consumes 2,000 extra calories every month — equivalent to 184 bags of crisps a year, while a pint of beer is the same as wolfing down two pork pies, and an alcopop like eating a block of cheddar cheese.

I think we’d all be better off without knowing such things, ahh being in ignorant bliss, it’s a wonderful place.

But see now I’ve already wasted all my time explaining why I’m here and deciding on what to talk about and how to talk about it.

This columnist lark is not as easy as you’d think especially when you only have a one-off chance to make an impression.

There’s always so much to have a whinge about in this modern day world but I don’t want to give the impression that I’m permanently grumpy.

Oh well, it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll be back next year when the dreaded curse strikes again.