I sometimes wonder, after reading the latest posts on my favourite blogs, whether I shouldn't post something a little more soul-searching, delve into my psyche and get all my worries and fears out there into the great beyond.

I used to. In my teenage years, I wrote copiously, spilling all of my angst out on paper, then sharing it with no-one but the bin in my room.

I think since then, I've been sort of spent, like I've maybe used up my quota of literary soul searches.

Also, I'm someone who tackles problems quietly, doesn't make a big deal of them. I can sit down and fret about something quietly to myself for a couple of hours, come to a conclusion, make peace with my worry or panic or uncomfortableness and get on with the job at hand. Now this infuriates Charlie because I have invariably dreamed up a solution to any given problem before she's even realised how much of a problem it's going to be. But no, I'm not really someone who airs his linen in public all that much.

Besides, from the look of what some of you are writing, you've got more than enough troubles of your own without me laying any more on you. This is supposed to be entertainment isn't it?