As it's Sunday I thought I'd write a confession about something that happened in 2004. Something for which I am sorry. Meet Catherine…
We met in a nightclub. Usual routine: I glared, she didn't look too afraid; I danced closer, she didn't retreat. Our lips soon met and I went home with her number.
A date was arranged. Posh restaurant. Went well - though I had to pretend to like wine. Another snog, then separate taxis home.
Three days later we went bowling. Thrashed her. Only problem was the conversation - hadn't noticed how boring she was until our first sober date. Kept telling me about her day.
Decided to give her one more chance. It was practice if nothing else. We'd go out near my house - no expensive taxis.
She didn't bang on too much this time and, after several brandy and lemonades, we walked through torrential rain back to mine - though her tuppence stayed in its purse.
Catherine woke up first in the morning. Began pottering - looking for socks. Hers were damp from the rain.
"I'm borrowing your Stevie Wonder CD too," she declared, and was out the door before I could protest.
Implied borrowing - that doesn't come until at least date six. Her presumptuous behaviour combined with all the girl talk left me no choice - this had to end. Just needed to figure out how to get Stevie and the socks back.
Devised a plan - but it required another date. A film night at hers. I'd sit through the movie, collect my belongings and ignore all future contact. Perfect.
She agreed but insisted on cooking. Her lasagne was vile - not enough cheese sauce. At least I could drop the wine pretence now.
Catherine insisted on holding hands throughout There's Something About Mary, a chore that became less annoying with each bottle of Latin American lager.
In fact, by the time Ted and Mary were locked in their final embrace, I was accidentally fondling her nipples.
Hadn't had sex for 18 months - but I couldn't break my enforced celibacy with a girl I was about to dump, could I?
Shamefully, yes - though it didn't last long.
There's a joke in TV show Curb Your Enthusiasm about how small penises are mocked but no one mentions the giant vagina. Well, sleeping with Catherine was like opening a window and trying to shag the world.
After five minutes I gave up, asking her to finish me off while plotting my escape.
"You're leaving?" she queried as I gathered Stevie and my socks.
"I'm really sorry - I've got to be up dead early."
"Can't you stay? We've just…you know. I was kind of hoping we could spend the night together."
She was becoming tearful but I held my nerve and scarpered.
Two days later Catherine texted - did I want to meet? Couldn't bring myself to reply. After three hours my phone vibrated once more.
"You complete bastard."
I couldn't argue with that.