“It’s been a rather uninspiring week” I said to myself as I drove along a filthy wet A303 on my way to Micheldever Tyres today.

I have used Micheldever Tyres for years, not because I know anything about tyres, but because anyone who I know who does know about cars, says that if you don’t go there to buy tyres, you are nothing more than a cretin.

So about once a year, I head down there, with adrenalin flowing at the prospect of my impending emasculation by a bloke in a boiler suit with a notepad in hand, waiting to catch me out with a question about tyres that I will fail to answer correctly.

“Do you need realignment sir?”

“I don’t know, because unlike you, I am not a real man, just take my money and leave me alone.”

To make matters worse, somewhat inexplicably, I have been known to try to be like them, pretending I know about tyres in a desperate bid to ensure I get a good deal.

The result is always the same, total emasculation as I miss the wheel ramps before, fighting back the tears, I scramble through the glove box, the side door compartments, and finally, the boot, in an increasingly desperate bid to find the locking wheel nut.

So, with my annual humiliation complete, I took my dog for a walk in Micheldever Woods and reflected on whether I had learnt anything new in a week where, as a businessmen, I could claim a host of underachievement awards.

Well, I did learn something new and quite fascinating, to me at least. On Tuesday, I was working in Hammersmith with my colleague, Paul, and after a day of reasonable underachievement, we decided we would head to the pub that he frequents.

I have been there a few times and unlike the Hampshire pubs around me that feature a guest list of rosy cheeked Nigel Farage fans who long for a return of The Black & White Minstrels, it has eclectic clientele, including, Paul Cook (former Sex Pistols drummer) a Sky News journalist and, as I discovered the other night, a well-respected piano tuner.

I got chatting to this chap and it turned out that he was stopping of for a couple of pints on his way home from a classical music gig in Hampshire.

“Oh really, whereabouts?” I enquired.

“The Anvil in Basingstoke” He replied.

“Oh dear, never mind” I said, being needlessly derogatory towards Basingstoke and the Anvil.

“Actually, I love the Anvil, did you not know it is one of the finest theatres for acoustics to work in…far better than the majority of the West End.”

So, whilst it is pretty much standard for me to be humiliated by a tyre fitter or a plumber, I have to say that this was, unquestionably, the first time I have earned cretin status via a piano tuner.

It’s been one of those weeks.