I had my hair done, not earth shattering news I accept, but still an important event in a girl’s life and right up there with weddings and funerals.

From a logistical point of view alone, the event itself requires the organisational skills of the Beckhams’ holiday planner. So by the time you actually get to a salon you really need work!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Mr Greedy was going to man the fort while I was away at the hairdresser, complete with ballet kits, long lists of instructions as to who had to be where and when, food, a car and so on, ready for my Saturday appointment.

So imagine my surprise when I arrived home from work on Friday and he spun round, smiled and said: “Well look at you.” “What?” I said in confusion wondering if I had forgotten to put on my skirt that morning and had been wandering around with my gusset showing, or whether a bird had defecated on my head and I hadn’t noticed.

“You, you look great,” he added, still smiling confidently. “Thank you,” I said mystified, presuming he had the horn. “Yes, it really suits you,” he continued, slowly digging his own grave, before finally adding: “Great hair.”

And then the penny dropped, although it was more of a dustbin lid than a coin, and I realised what he meant. “It’s tomorrow,” I said. The poor man.

The colour disappeared from his face faster than a red hankie on a hot wash, and he realised that however hard he worked, there was no way he was going to be able to get out of this one.

Like a man watching his raft swirl away in the current, he just stood, treading water, speechless and resigned to his fate, realising he had inadvertently made an ENORMOUS faux pas.

Because what did that mean? That he didn’t notice me at all, or that he tried his best and still didn’t notice?

And it reminded me of a boyfriend who, when questioned, admitted that he never sent a girl flowers, and I quote him here “because I don’t think any girl is gullible enough to fall for that.” Fall for what exactly?

The fact that you’ve actually got off your arse, put down the remote control and gone out to a flower shop to remind someone how you feel about them? How gullible of them.

How admirable of you. What happened to romance?

And I realised that even though Mr Greedy had got the wrong day, the point was that he had made a mental note and a concerted effort to compliment me, which is something all us girls love.

And that it’s the thought that counts, a sad cliche but a true one.

So while all you men folk are beginning to ponder what to get your missus for Christmas, remember that.

Airport gifts are never as exciting as a mistimed compliment, although if you’re at Gatwick airport I’d love a Gucci handbag.

But while he may have got away with it once, I think Mr Greedy might pay more attention next time.

The hair looks great by the way.