Last Wednesday, as I watched Birmingham struggle against Millwall, a sharp reminder of my frailties as a fan was brought home to me. Totally engrossed with what was happening on the pitch, I was discharging my anger on one player after the other when I suddenly heard a familiar female voice behind me proclaim. “Dad! Can you hear yourself?” Apparently, she could also hear me in her bedroom, so it must have been loud.

My twenty-two-year-old daughter Elena, studying for a London University Masters degree, is currently staying with us rather than sit it out in the solitary confinement of her small apartment in London’s East End.

Lena has always had this unnerving, sometimes irritating knack of gliding around the house unnoticed like a wisp of smoke to suddenly appear, often making me jump out of my skin.

This time, I had been well and truly caught in the act. My Dr. Jeckle & Mr. Hyde character had been exposed.

I am sure any man surrounded by women in the household will understand that a certain level of decorum is required and red lines cannot be crossed, or so I kid myself. I have always told my daughters that while you live in our house there are certain rules you don’t break until you are eighteen, after that you can do as you like. On the other hand, I have to admit I’m a bit of a softie, knowing full well, they will more likely than not, turn a deaf ear to my demands. One thing, however, I have always tried to do is desist from using extreme profanities in front of them.

Unfortunately, I have this habit, especially at St Andrews, of continually cursing under my breath and yesterday, as I watched the match on TV, I did not realise I was venting my spleen rather louder than I thought.

Embarrassed and red-faced, I immediately apologised. She made herself a cup of tea in silence and ignoring me walked upstairs as I said “Goodnight darling-sleep well.” Hoping for a reprieve. Nothing, not a sound in response.

Which brings me to the early morning and Elena’s solemn face. “Oh God!” I thought. “She’s in a bad mood with me.” Her expression melted and she burst out laughing.

I do not know if anyone else is like me, but in the future, every time I watch a Blues match I will seriously consider putting a sock in it. “Oh please open up St Andrews. At least with the crowd noise, no one can hear my mutterings.”