She's used to me twatting about like an arse, or - as happened yesterday - encouraging the kids to shout "Losers" to a long queue of people outside the school shop as we drove past, because we had the foresight to get their uniforms at the start of the school holidays.
I insist that I'm not a showman, or a performer of any kind, and she never believes me. Thing is, it's one thing to behave in a certain way with those who love you, and another to do it before strangers.
I don't actually mind talking to an audience - I've done a fair bit of it over the years. For some reason, I have the kind of job that people seem to find interesting, and want to hear about. So long as I'm expected to be me - and not "perform" - then I've no stage fright whatsoever. I mean, I'll be up and talking to 140-odd of you on October 1st, and I'm fine with that. No fear.
Plus I've no issue whatsoever with those who are life's extroverts and performers. If anything, I look at them with envious eyes, that they can be so un-self-conscious. I suppose what I fear is "performing" for an audience, and making them think I think it's all about me, rather than being there for them.
That has always held me back, and caused me to tie myself in knots. It's like trying to balance on the middle of a see-saw, while simultaneously trying to not be noticed.
When I hosted the doomed Board of Biffo, and we had meet-ups, I might've been perceived as rude, because I didn't want to stride up to people going "I'm Mr Biffo! Adore me! Moc-Moc-a-Moc, yeah?"
I just wanted to be on the same level as everyone else. Chat to people one-on-one, respecting them as the equals we all are. With hindsight, I realise that just by having some sort of Z-list public profile sets me apart in a situation like that, and there's little I can do about it.
It feels bizarre - because inside I'm still the same person I am when I'm at the shops, or watching telly, or playing games. At least now I understand and accept the unavoidable nature of the relationship there.
In the BoB days, I simply went to great pains to try to blend into the background, and not be a show-off, or act like I was waving my arms around trying to draw attention. I guess it might've come across as stand-offish, when really I just wanted people to talk to me on their terms. That's not to say I don't appreciate hearing that people like my work. I mean, it's a great motivator, and makes it all worthwhile.
It's like the Digifest. I don't want that to be some sort of dreadful act of self-aggrandisement. Something that Digitiser2000 has given me is a realisation of how important Digitiser has been to me. It means a lot, and has been hugely significant in my life.
Clearly, many of you feel the same way. I want the event to be something that informs and entertains, and is a celebration of Digitiser - not The Great Man Biffo. Which is why it's so important to me that other people who were involved in Digi are there, and why it's important that there's going to be time after the panels to chat. We're all in this together.
Then again, you might all walk out during the introductory video, which is potentially the single most bizarre thing I've ever done, and I can't quite believe I'll be showing it publicly...
My life has been a slow slog towards feeling confident enough to be who I am.
For a long time, I thought acceptance was about meeting expectations for normality. Then I thought it was not drawing attention to myself, hiding away. It was easier, less painful at least.
Back at the Play Expo in Manchester last year, somebody asked me what the meaning of life was. I dare say he'd wanted some sort of funny answer about, I dunno, putting a crab in a shoe, but on the spot I could only think of a truthful answer: surround yourself with people who let you be you. People who accept you as you, warts and all.
That's what we should all be: ourselves. We deserve to have that celebrated. Each and every one of us. A life spent behind a mask, or fitting yourself into a shape that society, and other people, demand, is no way to live. It's like a form of constant, low-level, trauma, which constantly reminds you that you're in some way defective.
Meeting somebody, as a 16 year-old boy, who I thought wanted to be with me, followed by the unexpected gift of Digitiser's popularity, were my first steps on the road to that self-acceptance. Unfortunately, both those things later went quite damagingly awry - giving the real me a firm and profound punt in the self-acceptance globes - before life got better again.
I'm blessed in that these days I have people who just want me to be me. And I have an outlet, in the form of Digitiser2000, which lets me do what I want to do. Frankly, I've earned it, but I appreciate it - and those of you who read or support it - more than I can ever express in words.
GAMESMASTER, CAN YOU HELP ME BE GORO?
I've written on here before about the time I appeared on Channel 4's legendary GamesMaster.
It was a pretty wretched experience; I overthought the whole thing, had to make up on the fly a bunch of reviews for games I hadn't even played, which left my brain grinding for suitable words. I sat staring into the camera like a chicken that had spent its life in a wire cage, and just succumbed to an abrupt flash of consciousness that its entire existence was leading to it being throttled, plucked, stuffed, roasted, and eaten.
Plus, I was aware that I had done something exceedingly weird to my hair. It speaks volumes that these days I mostly just let my hair do its own thing, for better or worse.
The GamesMaster clips have dogged me intermittently over the years. It resurfaced again last night on Twitter - someone posted up a screen cap of the pudgey, fresh-faced, 22 year-old I was back then (you can go looking for it, but he's removed it now - which was very kind of him, and completely unnecessary).
I remember when the clip first went online years ago, and someone pointed me in the direction of it: "Jesus - look at the state of him" one of the commenters remarked. "What a freak".
"Shocking" said another, before I stopped reading.
"Never remembered you looking like that - it's amazing how bad photos can be" said a mate, supportively, on Facebook this morning...
It was 24 years ago, but I still wince whenever I see that clip, or images of that clip.
There's a part of me that wants to scream "But I'm better than that! I don't look like that!".
Which is sheer vanity... but at the root of that vanity is simply base insecurity. I can even track where that insecurity came from. All of it.
And it comes back to my answer to the question about the meaning of life. Being bullied, or being encouraged by my dad to be something that pulled against my natural inclination towards creative pursuits, or being told I had the wrong sort of hair, or stupid facial hair, or the wrong clothes, or was too tall, or I had troublesome emotions, or a strange sense of humour, or deserved a daily punch in the face... all were attempts to tell me that who I am - who I can't help but be - wasn't accepted.
And all of that simply made me more desperate - and receptive - to efforts to drag me out of my natural shape, so that I could make it stop.
I mean, the hair on the GamesMaster clip... I know it looks like that because I spent an hour that morning trying to style it like a boy at school called Lee Hayes, who always had lots of girlfriends.
Not that I was expecting the GamesMaster appearance to turn me into a stud, but on some instinctive emotional level I thought that if I had better hair - rather than the wavy, thick, mess it usually is - the audience at home might accept me the way the un-bullied, apparently attractive, Lee Hayes was seemingly accepted.
And maybe that's really what's at the heart of the sadness I get when I'm reminded about that clip: I feel sorry for that 22 year old kid, who was trying so hard to be accepted that he was trying to make himself into something else. Something he thought was a baseline for what society deems as normal. And by doing that he wouldn't be a target, that he would be accepted. He looks scared, exposed, like an elephant trying to squeeze into a wasp costume. I don't recognise him: physically or otherwise.
I feel a profound sense of relief that I've ended up where I'm at, but it doesn't stop me feeling a sense of loss that it's a gift I never received sooner.
Even so, you can stick it up your arse if you think I'm linking to that clip.