It is always exciting when you experience something for the first time.

Of course, there are exceptions. Being caught smuggling drugs into Thailand would be no picnic, and I wouldn't hugely relish being trampled by a herd of rhinos.

But other things come as a nice surprise when they happen. Last year, at the age of 43, I did something for the very first time - I ate a piece of cheese.

Now this may not sound like much. Indeed, it might sound plain ridiculous. It's not like joining the Mile High Club (hopefully, that'll be next) or swimming with whales off Alaska.

But to me it represented a great leap forward, the casting off of the fear and loathing I suffered in childhood towards all types of cheese, and the emergence of a new world - full of amazing tastes and textures.

No wonder the nation spends so much on the product. Sales have hit £1.9 billion with the success of cheese-loving duo Wallace and Gromit's latest film The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit. Fans have been clamouring for the previously little-known variety Stinking Bishop after it featured in the film, and sales of Wallace's favourite Wensleydale shot up when he hankered for a piece in the film A Close Shave.

Cheddar remains the country's favourite cheese, accounting for 51 per cent of the total market at £942 million, with mozzarella second and red Leicester third. We eat 545 tons of cheese every year - about 24lb per person - and, according to The Grocer magazine, nine out of ten households questioned bought at least one type of cheese each month

I was deprived without knowing it. As children, my brother, sister and I were never given cheese. In fact, it was never to be seen in our fridge. My parents didn't eat it, so neither did we. And, to be honest, the idea of food made from coagulated milk did not seem appealing.

As a teenager I worked in a pub and had to cut big slabs of the stuff for ploughman's lunches. It smelled and felt revolting. If anyone asked for parmesan I had to don an asbestos suit and, as for Danish blue, I'd seen piles of cow dung that looked more appetising.

My 20s came and went, followed by my 30s - during which I sampled and enjoyed pizzas, lasagne and other cheese-based dishes (which I now know don't really taste of cheese). But never the real McCoy.

When I think of all the opportunities I turned down - all the after-dinner cheese boards that were wafted under my nose, all that sitting around nibbling dry cream crackers while everyone else yum-yummed their way through a world of cheese.

It is red Leicester I have to thank for my late introduction to the food. I was at a friend's wedding, where the only grub on offer was a cheeseboard. I'd expected more, glutton that I am, so hadn't eaten. My husband cut a small piece, placed it on a cracker and handed it to me. I tentatively nibbled and suddenly realised that I liked the taste.

I must have eaten 400 red Leicester crackers that night and put on around five stone. In the year since then, I have eaten cheese sandwiches, cheese baked potatoes and cheese on toast. I've tried and liked other types of cheese - but draw the line at anything with more veins than me, or which smells like a cricket changing room.

Christmas is coming and the shops are full of cheese. There's a whole new world out there - at least 654 cheeses (www.cheese.com) - and I've got 42 years abstinence to make up for.

Updated: 09:02 Tuesday, December 13, 2005