YOU may not want to hear this but I once lost a nipple on the way home from the Lake District. Careless … but it was more about ignorance.

My old Hillman Imp, known to some as Puff the Tragic Wagon, overheated coming down the M6 .

I got out and opened the bonnet and stared at the gushing steam.

Then, being a teenager whose total education regarding mechanics was limited to Corgis and Dinky cars, I did a very foolish thing.

I unscrewed the radiator cap.

Whoosh!

Before you could say, “You mad asterisking idiot!” a pressurised jet of superheated water shot over me.

Shocked and speechless, I gingerly removed my steaming, drenched shirt and stared down. At a skin as raw as my knowledge of engines.

And one of the two girls, who were my passengers, exclaimed in astonishment: “Where’s your nipple!”

Because of that painful experience, I usually refrain from removing my shirt in public.

Which is why my guilty secret – no, nothing to do with the car engine experience – is known to few.

I am a man of bling. A member of the chain gang.

Recently, President Sarkozy was photographed sporting a neck chain, á la Tom Jones, under his crisp shirt. And in the august corridors of the Times newspaper it seems, the peekaboo sight of the French president’s silver sparked squeals among, it admitted, the all-female staff present.

Half were horrified, taking the traditional view that such jewellery ill-adorns a real man and suggested the worst type of “slimy gigolo”.

But, excitingly for me, a minority school of opinion, with growing voice, reckoned that Sarkozy’s necklace was actually rather intriguing.

I have worn a neck chain since I was married 33 years ago.

Because I already sported a silver engagement ring – psst, with the words ‘The Lone Ranger’ ironically inscribed inside – my wife chose not to give me a wedding ring but a silver celtic cross necklace instead.

I, um, mislaid it after three years and my wife patiently replaced it with a hand-crafted one that I have worn, lovingly, ever since.

Now, according to the fellow in the Times, British ‘chain’ stores like Topman and Argos are reporting an increase in the sale of man-chains and the Thomas Sabo brand chain.

And if they are good enough for a bloke like Tom Jones to sport with pride, I thought, “ Maybe it’s time for me to come out and admit to wearing mine?”

So, without revealing anything personal, I asked female colleagues at the Echo if what they thought of men who wore neck chains?

Their faces looked as if they had been asked to chew a rotting overcooked sprout.

“Ugh! Not for me!” was the general opinion, while one muttered “David Dickinson” under her breath.

And all I wanted to say was, “All right! Keep your shirts on! They’re not that bad!”

But I didn’t. I just kept quiet.

And kept my silver chain close to my chest.

(Oh and by the way., in case you’re wondering… it did grow back.)