I like to think of myself as a pretty charitable person. In fact everyone I know thinks I'm a pretty charitable person as well; but that could be because I tell them why I'm a pretty charitable person. I try to be genuinely charitable - giving purely for the good of giving, a completely selfless act - but I can't. I need to tell someone about it. 

Living amongst my peers for the majority of the year has allowed my use of obscenities to blossom into pretty much every sentence I use. However for those few weeks of the year when I return home to get my bed sheets washed and dine on food that hasn't turned a bit too grey I have to curb my love for the swear so as not to tarnish my parents 1950s lifestyle. 

I read something in the newspaper the other day that was probably the most depressing thing I’ve ever read. It probably says a lot about me that it had nothing to do with poverty or war, or even the slow death of our planet, but was in fact about the male libido – more specifically, that men experience their sexual peak at twenty-two years old. 

Moving to the city has meant that one section of society has become increasingly prominent in my day-to-day living - the homeless. These guys are a fascinating bunch and, without pity or patronising, I'll take you through my guide to the tramp.

I depend on alcohol to have a really good time. I’ve openly admitted, as a heterosexual man, that I quite fancy Brad Pitt. I’ve even stolen money from my mum’s purse. I’m comfortable enough with who I am to admit these too you today, but they do not compare with what I am about to say …