For as long as I can remember I’ve had a phobia about buttons. The sort you wear on your clothing. I used to keep it secret because, frankly, I was embarrassed about it. After all, I’m a big tuff bloke. But now the truth can be told.

Apparently it’s called koumpounophobia and I am amazed at the number of people who share it. I used to believe I was the only one, and that it was caused by something I don’t remember, but which my parents told me about. When I was very little I choked on a button and was dangled upside down in order for it to be ejected. This, I thought, was the start. But button-related traumas can’t have happened to the entire army of us zip and velcro-wearing co-sufferers, so I’m at a loss.

Press-studs, poppers (no, not the drug kind) zips and so on are fine. Also, the metal stud above the zip on jeans is OK. Not, though, the smaller metal studs which make up a button fly. Ugh.

My phobia isn’t extreme, and in the past I’ve been forced to wear proper shirts and stuff for weddings, but I’ve always been on edge, even though I will do it. But knowing there was a button against my skin would drive me insane. And buttons on duvets. That, I’m afraid, is the devil’s work.