I FELT sorry for Natalie Bennett, leader of the Green Party, after her ‘mental brain fade’ (her words) last week.

I admired her handling of it, however. ‘I’m only human,’ she told reporters later.

How many other politicians would admit such fallibility? Indeed how often are any of us prepared to admit to such frailties?

Of course this might have come at the expense of Bennett’s political reputation in the unforgiving world of Westminster and the media.

It made me think of the times when my own mind has let me down at a crucial moment. The scars still smart and are visible in a certain light.

I remember going for an interview as a schoolboy for a Saturday job stacking shelves at a supermarket and when I had to give my date of birth for the records I couldn’t remember for a split second. It was enough of a delay to embarrass me and make the interviewer suspicious of my claims that I could competently place a can of beans safely and neatly on a supermarket shelf.

I have no explanation other than to say it was my first encounter of going for a job so perhaps I was overwhelmed by the occasion. (Note, I didn’t get the position.) As a reporter, I’ve had a few embarrassing moments, too. Interviewing somebody famous, particularly somebody you admire, can be intimidating. Couple that with inadequate preparation and an insufficient number of questions, and the results can be toe-curling.

I once interviewed Ben Elton and I was feeling nervous. Towards the end of our chat an awkward silence descended when I realised I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. My mind blanked. So I burbled something about sending the article to him for his perusal. The comedian and author had probably already done a dozen similar phone interviews that day and had an agent who would collect all his press cuttings for him.

‘It’s alright, mate,’ Ben said, gently, ‘I trust you to do a good job.’ Cue blushing reporter.

I have a love-hate relationship with public speaking: I’ve had some successful experiences, but I’ve also had some absolute horrors as well.

Those occasions when I’ve frozen and struggled to articulate publicly my thoughts still haunt me.

Where does the fear, the sense of panic that can overtake you, come from? For me – and I suspect this is true of many people – it is anxiety over being scrutinised and judged by other people. A great fear that we won’t measure up in the eyes of our peers, or appear out of our depth.

The best policy I’ve found is to hold my hand up and accept it with humility when I make a fool of myself.

Or as Natalie Bennett put it, admit I am only human.