I came across a woman at work the other day who had studied numerology and she was working out people's personalities by converting their names into numbers and analyising their meanings.

People were crowding round her, desperate for a bit of confirmation on wonderful personality traits, and she was getting through each character analysis with the efficiency of a bank clerk. She told the smartly dressed picture editor that she had good taste and style and she told another executive that he had a sense of leadership.

After jumping the queue, I presented her with my name and she set to work. "Ah-ha", she said. "Very interesting. You're imaginative and a bit of a trailblazer. You're great in a team but you're quite quiet."

Hmmm. So I'm a mute, trailblazing team player. Trailblazing maybe, but I'm not sure about the team player and I'm definitely not quiet.

So I challenged her on her last piece of "intuition" and after a lot of umming and ahhing, she said: "I think what the numbers are showing me is that you used to be quite noisy but are now quiet in comparion."

When I questioned her further, she began to look evasive and then eventually quite blank. "Um, I can tell you're interested in the whole theology so I'll bring in a book for you on Monday," she said.

I was pretty annoyed but, at the same time, now that the adjectives were out there, I was desperately reading meanings into them and trying to find truths.

It reminded me of the time I paid £30 to see a tarot card reader in Camden Town. She had the whole crystal jewellery and shawl thing and the first thing she said when I sat down was: "You work in the media".

Wow, I thought, this woman is hot. Until she proceeded to tell me the biggest load of made-up baloney, like: "You're going to marry a dentist next year", and: "I see three children".

That was about five years ago and I have stopped being obsessed about my dental hygiene because, frankly, I know now that I'm not going to find love in the dentist's chair.

I think the worst thing about people who profess to know the "inner you" is the doubts or the hopes they raise.

However much you don't believe them, I think you accept their powers on some stupid, irrational level.

The only "Gypsy Rose Lees" I respect are the ones who are attached to circuses and only charge £3 a pop to tell you the blindingly obvious.

I went to one who lived in a beaten-up caravan. She sat me down and said: "Yes, I see you like a lot of boys. You're boy mad. You like those boys, don't you, girl."

And that was that. £3 and out the caravan door as quickly as I came in. Still single and boy-phobic. But at least she gave me a few laughs.