I blame Les Dawson. I had been laughing too much at the comedian on that Gold television series The Interviews.

It’s the programme that uses show clips and slices from chat shows, hosted by the likes of Parkinson and Wogan.

My wife Maria and I watched it late before going to bed and, once under the duvet, I couldn’t stop replaying the gags in my mind:

I met my wife in a travel agency. She was looking for a holiday and I was the last resort.

My great great great grandfather fought with Wellington. They wouldn’t trust him with a gun.

My wife is a bit thick. For years she thought cami-knickers were people who stole soap.

My shoulders shook silently in the dark as I didn’t want to wake Maria.

Then I got to Cissie and Ada on holiday: “Have you had the sheesh kebabs?” “Ever since I arrived.”

The one that tipped me over the edge was Ada in the doctor’s waiting room: “She had a hysterical rectomy.”

My repressed laughter created its own outlet: I got hiccups.

Not just little hiccups but an outbreak that were probably recorded by the British Geological Survey.

“We’ve registered a 4.1 tremor in the Huddersfield region.”

Not only did they give me convulsions, they made me sound like a camel with a cough.

After repressing laughter, I now had to suppress involuntary contractions of the diaphragm. This is also known as a myoclonic jerk which is exactly what I felt. But how do you get rid of them?

They are a dastardly affliction with a wicked sense of humour. I tried holding my breath and, for half a minute they let me believe I had won, only to return as fierce as ever. Only joking, we’re still here.

Fluids didn’t work. I glugged from a bottle of water next to the bed. No affect, except that a short while later I had to take the hiccups to the loo. And back.

I even tried sucking my thumb but imagined what I looked like, curled in a defensive foetal position with my first digit in my mouth, and burst out laughing.

Laughter and hiccups is not a recommended combination. It brought back the taste of curry.

The NHS website, I discovered the next day, says the problem can be alleviated by sipping ice-cold water, holding your breath, biting a lemon, swallowing granulated sugar, tasting vinegar and pulling your knees up to your chest, although it is advised not to try all of these remedies at the same time.

Other internet advice includes plugging your ears, sticking your tongue out, drinking water upside down, being tickled, breathing into a brown paper bag or getting someone to kick you on the shin to divert your attention from the hiccups.

“Wake up, Maria. I want you to hurt me.” “Have you been reading Fifty Shades, again?”

Of course, I didn’t have access to the internet or sugar or vinegar in bed in the middle of the night. I eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.

The NHS website also said hiccups can occur after drinking alcohol and eating spicy foods. Whoops! I had done both but in moderation.

Mind you, I still blame Les. “The wife complained she was homesick. I said, but this is your home. She said, I know and I’m sick of it.”

They don’t make comics like that any more.