A chap doesn't often talk about his teddy bear in public, let alone bare all to eternal cyberspace through a national newspaper. But someing so extraordinary happened to mine of late that I've resolved to throw caution to the wind, to defy, umm, teddiquette — and to come clean.

First, a clarification: While said bear was until recently mine, decades have wafted by since I last exercised any proprietary rights over "Mummy" — so called, I hasten to add, because my brother had named his teddy, "Daddy."

For more than 30 years, in fact, the bear was in a box. Well, I think it was. I don't really know. What's for sure is that late last year — when it arrived on my doorstep in Japan after being unexpectedly "rendered" from my parents' house in Australia — it was in a box. And it was a very old-looking box.