HERE I am, armed with my lucky rabbit's foot, salt shaker perched on my shoulder, St Christopher medallion on my chest and not a black cat or ladder in sight. It's probably safe to go out.

Then again, if it's Friday, or the moon's full, or I've been having that recurring dream about fish, perhaps I won't risk it.

The wretched, cowering, quivering people of Portland have my every sympathy.

Posters for the new Wallace and Gromit film will not feature the word "rabbit" because of a local superstition on the little island off Dorset.

It seems that because burrowing can cause landslips in quarries, residents of Portland instead call the creatures underground mutton or furry things.

So posters for the new film, The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, on Portland do not use the word in respect for local folklore. Instead they simply say "Something bunny is going on".

Like all superstitions, it's founded in practical fact because, apparently, the animals could cause dangerous subsidence in the quarries the isle is famous for.

If the word 'rabbit' is used in company in Portland there is generally a bit of a hush.

A bit like in our house when I was growing up. My dad was madly superstitious.

If we ever put shoes on the table he would fly across the room and swipe them on to the floor jibbering about 'bad luck'. Or maybe he was just being hygiene conscious because he knew how much doggy doo-doo we'd walked in during our daily adventures.

I've seen him wrap an old mirror in masses of padding and carry it to the local tip where he would leave it gently in a skip so as not to blight the next seven years.

He was always touching wood - usually with his head at high velocity - when he'd heard from mum how naughty I'd been while he was at work. "Now speak to him," she'd say after reeling off the list.

But that was all in the Dark Ages when we peasants could be expected to know no better. Nowadays, with all this new-fangled book learning and the "Eureka!" that comes from watching television, surely we (and especially the people of Portland) understand that superstition comes from ignorance and fear of the dark.

In England it was once a custom to pass a newly-born baby through the rind of a cheese. Now the NSPCC would prosecute the parents for abuse and the child would develop a lifelong allergy to Wensleydale, milk, nuts and nylon.

The ancient Greeks used to believe that if you had sex while a north wind was blowing you would produce a male child - a southern wind would produce a female child. In a modern semi-detached with double glazing, there's not enough breeze to waft a candle flame so what sort of genderless creature do you get from such a union?

Here's a good one: Peruvian indians used to wash their babies in llama urine to ward off evil spirits. That explains why we have some pretty evil kids these days because they are all washed in bleach and smell of Johnson's baby powder.

Fishermen have always been a fairly superstitious lot. Encounters deemed to be unlucky would deter a fisherman from putting to sea. A red-haired person, someone flat-footed, "ill-fitted" or generally odd looking, even a 'queer-looking' dog would be enough.

Mind you, if I walked into a pub and encountered any of that motley selection, it would curdle my beer for life.

Another weird superstition was that seeing an ambulance was very unlucky unless you pinched your nose or held your breath until you saw a black or a brown dog.

That could be very unlucky in a modern city.

Because if you happen to be behind an ambulance in a traffic jam, and given that dogs are not welcome in many city centres, you could be holding your breath until you black out and need - an ambulance.

What a load of codswallop. Surely you're not superstitious? I don't believe a word of it - touch wood, fingers crossed, hex-hex and bless you for sneezing.

Updated: 09:01 Tuesday, October 11, 2005