MY career will forever be defined by my encounter with Kermit the Frog — an inanimate construction of green textile, foam and buttons.

No matter that I have worked on five continents, seen disasters, witnessed greatness and known humanity at its best and worst.

No matter that I have stared into the eyes of murderers and shivered, interviewed prime ministers, presidents and princes.

All of that gets a quiet nod of respect. Then I add: “And I interviewed Kermit the Frog.”

Smiles broaden, hands come out to be shaken, exclamations of disbelief and admiration emerge.

“You interviewed Kermit! Respect man!"

There has even been genuflection but that was probably sarcasm.

Kermit was speaking at the Oxford Union and I was tasked with the story. I met him — his operator, I suppose I should say — and we set up for a chat.

As soon as the camera turned, Kermit became real to me and everyone else in that room in the Union library. The combination of green textile etc and the puppeteer made him live and I was undoubtedly talking to Kermit, the frog everyone in the world seems to know.

He was brilliantly funny in an ironic, self-deprecating way; it’s the best interview I have ever done. He took control of it completely and I just let him because it didn’t matter what happened it was going to be hilarious.

Did it contribute to the sum of human knowledge? Of course not, but it was three minutes of richly entertaining TV. What’s more it’s had 9,000 hits on YouTube, compared to 46 for my presentation showreel. Proof to all reporters that the story is always bigger than us, always!

So, when I’m greeting a new intake of university students, as I often do, I give them the earlier speech about working on all continents and all that; they usually look blank because some of them don’t even know what a continent is. Then I show the Kermit interview and everything changes: I am no longer the old geezer banging on about stuff they don’t care about, I am right down there with the kids. . . innit. . . or should that be ribbitt?