WHAT has she got to hide? was the question most people were asking after TV documentary-maker Louis Theroux's recent expose of Tory MP Ann Widdecombe's life.

Despite much persuasion, Ann kept the cameras out of her bedroom and bathroom. Not that there was anything unusual about those rooms - it was quite obvious that there wasn't. It's just there were some areas she wanted to keep private.

We lap up these fly-on-the-wall programmes and nit-pick about their subjects afterwards. "Oooh, did you see Victoria Beckham's kitchen? It looked no better than our Susan's."

Then there was Jimmy Savile's fridge. With nothing in it - no milk, no butter, nothing. "God, isn't that weird?" we say, and the wardrobe full of his late mother's clothes.

But, when you think about it, maybe we ought to be more charitable. I mean, would YOU allow a film crew into YOUR home? People make assumptions over the slightest things. Look at Through the Keyhole - every item people leave around the house is assumed to be a clue as to what sort of person they are.

I dread to think what TV audiences would say about me based on the contents of my home:

Hall: This is lined with wine carriers full of empties. The bottles have accumulated over some weeks and are ready to take to the tip but I can imagine what people would say.

Living room: Candles are everywhere and I suppose, with its left-over goblets of red wine and bits of poppadom, our sideboard does have an altar-like appearance. The viewer would suspect ritualistic ceremonies and sacrifices. And they wouldn't be far wrong. It's a Friday and Saturday night ritual for my husband to serve me curry and pour me a glass of Chilean red, and, most nights, I end up sacrificing my seat by the fire to the cat.

Bedroom: This would create a ludicrously false impression. With its red walls and mirrors (not on the ceiling, I might add), people would assume it to be the scene of much passion. And at the moment there's a magazine article on the bedside table entitled "Does sex get better over 40?" as well as a pair of fluffy pink hand-cuffs. Viewers would see me as a kinky sex fiend. Which couldn't be further from the truth. I ripped out the article hoping to prove to my husband that "No it doesn't, so there's no point." And the cuffs were a gift at the opening of a branch of Ann Summers (which I visited in an official capacity).

Bathroom: This would add to the image of me as an exciting, risque creature. I would insist upon being on hand to point out that the huge Joan Collins-style corner bath was inherited from the previous owners.

Kitchen: Quite often, our fridge isn't much healthier than Sir Jimmy's. A tub of margarine and a green pepper is what greeted me the other day as I arrived home ravenous after a hard day's toil. People would think that was very weird for a family-of-four.

Then there would be everything else to worry about - your taste in pictures, wallpaper, carpet, even the type of TV. "Gosh, they haven't got a widescreen. Hasn't everyone who is anyone got a widescreen?"

Everything would attract unwanted criticism. People may poke fun at Ann Widdecombe for barring the way to two rooms, but really we should praise her for her bravery.

In my house every room beyond the doormat (which hasn't got 'Welcome' woven into it) would be out of bounds.