In which the man doth protest too much

THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

So, There I was, alone in the flat, working on some shit hot comedy action for these pages when I realised that I needed (not to put too fine a point on it) to nip off a length. The toilet is where our story starts, so I must apologise if I have put you off your breakfast/lunch/dinner.

I settled down with a copy of Patrick Moore's autobiography - memoirs of his career as an astronomer and broadcaster, interspersed with his forthright old-school (cough) Daily Express views - when, past the point of no return, I heard the front door open. It was my flatmate Sean, and our mutual pal this is scamp-around-town Kenn with a double-n, on their way to the pub.

They shout their greetings, and leave before I finish the job in hand, laughing suspiciously. All was revealed as I returned to my laptop to find the following scrolling off the bottom of my Twitter stream:

Oh, LOL.

I wouldn't have worried too much, but I was beginning to get a number of replies, including one (sincerely, and they wouldn't hear a word otherwise) congratulating me on having the courage to come out; whilst B3ta.com's Rob asked me:

Are you a bear?

To which the only sensible reply can be:

Actually, I suppose I'm a duckie

Yeah. Can you see what I did there?

Naturally, the madness didn't end there, with scamp-around-town Kenn with a double-n posting a grab of my coming out on Facebook, whereupon a number of witnesses (total number = one) coming forward with evidence that I had once been seen with a bottle of mineral water. Carbonated mineral water.

But I insist: I. AM. NOT. A. BUMDER. I'm rubbish with colours.

So, I have this to say: I'll get you scamp-around-town Kenn. I'll get you if it's the last thing I dooooo!*

* Up to and including scratching your eyes out