DIDN’T I used to go out on Saturday nights?” is what went through my mind as I found myself watching a giant duck in a disco wig singing Ave Maria on prime time TV.

From the endless trailers that began what seems like eight months ago now, ITV’s The Masked Singer looked excruciating. And that’s possibly why I watched the first show, as my self respect slipped down the back of the sofa.

I didn’t try to resist. And once it started, I had to watch all the way through - because, naturally, I wanted to find out who was behind the mask. That’s how they get you, and I totally fell into the trap.

For anyone who hasn’t seen The Masked Singer (Respect. You’re way stronger than me); in a nutshell, a bunch of celebs perform kooky pop songs and power ballads, disguised in surreal costumes - a creepy bee with a china doll face, a daisy with plant-pot feet, a kind of steampunk hedgehog, you get the picture - while a panel tries to guess who they are.

It’s one of those TV shows that gives you the eerie feeling you might be the only person watching. Can anyone else see the giant multi-coloured Octopus in a purple shower cap warbling Bobby Darin’s Splish Splash?Is that really a human-sized duck in a Madonna cone bra? Surely that can’t be, of all things, a lilac unicorn singing Kate Bush’s Babooshka...

I texted my sister to check it wasn’t just me. “Duck singing Like A Virgin! Can’t watch! Turned over,” came her reply.

The panel is Davina McCall (over-excited), Jonathan Ross (bewildered), Rita Ora (confused) and some American bloke who looks to be wearing a brown cardigan and makes Louis Walsh look like a Marvel superhero. Each show ends with a sing-off between the two masked D-listers with the lowest votes, then the loser reveals their identity - to bear pit chants of “Take it off!” as the frenzied audience and panel work work themselves into spontaneous combustion.

When the mask finally comes off it’s an anti-climax, but it’s too late because you’ve watched it all the way through and you’re so ashamed you watch it again. The. Following. Night.

By the end of the first show, I’d guessed the masked singer - which was more than Rita Ora and co. did. “It’s Dame Helen Mirren! Kate Winslet! Ariana Grande! Beyonce!” they screeched at someone dressed as a butterfly. It wasn’t any of the above. “It’s Patsy Palmer,” I muttered. One of the clues was “millions tuned in to see me get married”, so within five seconds I’d worked out that it had to be a soap star And she was quite tall and, well, sounded like Patsy Palmer. Sure enough, ‘Butterfly’ pulled off her mask to reveal she was Patsy Palmer. American bloke in brown cardi pretended, unconvincingly, to know who she was. Rita Ora screamed. Davina McCall almost fainted. Jonathan Ross looked like he wanted to call his agent.

Based on a South Korean concept, The Masked Singer is weird, annoying, garish...and an unlikely or maybe inevitable hit. Nearly six million viewers have been watching it, and social media speculation on the yet-to-be-unmasked singers is rife. Is ‘Fox’ Denise Van Outen? Probably. Is ‘Octopus’ a Pussycat Doll? Well, it ain’t Meryl Streep.

If you’re expecting A, B, even C-listers, don’t hold your breath. So far, the masks have revealed Teddy Sheringham, the singer from The Darkness and former Home Secretary Alan Johnson. So Hedgehog isn’t going to turn out to be Mick Jagger.

It’s a bonkers, baffling show. Will I keep watching? Of course. I need to know if Duck really is Dame Judi Dench...

* IT was a rainy evening in March, 1939 when 24 boys, clutching one suitcase each, arrived in Bradford. They had fled Nazi-occupied Europe on the Kindertransport, and their new home was a house in Manningham, converted into a Jewish Refugee Hostel.

It was a privilege for me to meet a man who, aged 14, came to live in that hostel. The late Albert Waxman was put on a train out of the German town where his family home had been smashed up by the SS. “I was lucky to come to England - and even luckier not to go to Poland,” he said.

This week Holocaust Memorial Day highlighted the appalling plight of victims of division and hatred. For the 'lucky' ones, like Albert, this city offered sanctuary. “I never forgot the kindness of Bradford,” he said.

* I'VE always enjoyed Cold Feet and welcomed the comedy drama's return to TV, with Adam, Pete, Karen, Jenny and David now middle-aged, dealing with teenage kids, ageing parents, health issues and blended families.

It's all nonsense, of course. They all live in fabulous houses in Didsbury, the Knightsbridge of Manchester, and heaven knows how they afford it. Pete works in a nursing home, Karen dabbles in publishing, does Adam even have a job?

Who cares...I just like looking at their lovely kitchens. Karen's mosaic tiles are to die for! It's my weekly fix of interiors envy.