"YOU look like Maureen O'Hara, are you Irish?" old men often asked me when I lived in London.

I don't know why, but the further south you go, people seem to associate red hair and a pale complexion with the Emerald Isle, and to male pensioners I bore a striking resemblance to the post-war film star.

I would answer 'No' and then be bombarded with further questions such as "What about your relatives? Were you from Ireland originally? You look Irish."

I'd tell them I had no idea who I'd descended from.

I didn't know and I didn't want to know.

At the time I could have easily found out.

I worked in the boringly-titled Office of Population, Censuses and Surveys, and helped visitors research their family trees.

They were eager to unearth every scrap of information, many having high hopes that they were related to someone rich and famous with an unclaimed fortune languishing in a long-forgotten bank account just begging to be collected.

Some would scuttle away red in the face after discovering that the great uncle Wilf they'd been brought up to believe was a much-respected landowner and heir to half of Scotland was, in fact, a notorious felon who died in Parkhurst prison owing thousands through gambling debts.

But despite being in the thick of it, I never wanted to delve into my own history.

I'm ashamed to say that I know virtually nothing of it beyond my immediate grandparents.

I don't know how my family came to be living in the North of England when I was born, whether we came over with William the Conqueror or arrived in the 20th Century by ferry from Dublin.

I don't want to find out if I'm related to Paul McCartney or Richard Branson.

What would be the purpose of it? To knock on their door and say: "Hello, I'm Helen, your long-lost great, great, great niece. Can you lend me a few quid for a new car?"

And I certainly don't want to find out that I'm Keith Chegwin's second cousin or Anne Robinson's (red hair) third once-removed.

But my lack of interest puts me in the minority.

Since last week millions of people have taken a peek into their past with the publication of the 1901 census.

I plan to take a look myself, to find out who was living in my house 100 years ago.

You see, I'd rather find out about a set of complete strangers than my own family.

I find some of my living relatives hard enough to deal with, without wanting to dredge up other weird and not-so wonderful characters from the past.

Still, once that website appears, curiosity and the ease of access to information may get the better of me.

If this column doesn't appear next week, you'll know that I really am closely related to Maureen O'Hara and I've moved to a mansion in Bel Air.