Imelda May and pole fitness instructor Angie Voluti

Matt Woodcock, Church of England Pioneer Minister and Mission Supporter in the Diocese of York:

This month I’ll be sharing a stage with the man who gave me the worst news of my life. He’s the consultant urologist who broke it to me that I’d almost certainly never have children naturally. Without putting anyone off their coffee and cornflakes, Dr Graeme explained that the average man produced between 40 to 300 million sperm per millilitre sample. He said they’d found 37 in mine.

“Brilliant!” I said. “37 million - that’s not too bad.”
“No Matt,” he replied sombrely. “Literally 37. And they aren’t great swimmers I’m afraid.”
I had some hard questions for God in my prayers that night. Virtually seedless and probably going to be childless - it didn’t look good.
I clung to Graeme’s last words before leaving his office.
“Remember Matt - there’s always hope,” he said
We’ve since teamed up to host men’s health nights. Embarrassment, fear or male pride so often deterred his patients from getting checked and treated early enough for things like prostate cancer. It’s a serious issue.
We seek to help blokes be more open about their physical, mental and spiritual well being. Graeme focuses on their nether regions - with graphic slides. What symptoms to look for. How to check yourself.
I talk about getting a spiritual health check. Generate debate and honest conversation about faith, belief and the great beyond.
Regardless of gender, I believe being unashamedly open is an essential part of the Christian journey. Open about our joys and inspirations, but also our confusions, doubts and fears. The airing and sharing of our innermost thoughts and feelings can be the best kind of soul surgery.
For me, practically, that could mean prayer and meditation in a quiet chapel or outrageous oversharing to treasured friends in a noisy bar.
It’s what helped me cling to hope in the dark days of our childlessness.
After several failed attempts of IVF treatment, when all seemed lost, we had one more go.
Seven weeks later - one unforgettable morning - two heartbeats flashed up on the nurse’s monitor. Somehow the IVF miracle makers found two Michael Phelpses amongst my tiny batch of flailing doggy paddlers. My wife was pregnant. With twin girls.
Cradling them in the maternity ward was like holding hope.

But Chris, I'm sorry to tell you this - I’ve hardly slept since.