Twenty years ago, when Simon was a whippersnapper presenter on BBC Radio 1, he received thousands of letters from listeners confessing their darkest secrets and worst misdemeanours, begging for his forgiveness. Every day, Father Mayo read out a confession - and then he'd decide whether to grant forgiveness or not.

Read a classic Confession below, then Send Simon Your Confession

Dear Father Simon,

It was in the winter of 1985, Father, in the city centre of Liverpool, that I was assigned the very responsible role of "Tutor Constable" to the new recruit on our section. Due to the need to rely upon each other in a variety of circumstances we developed a very close working bond, and, as part of his professional development, I encouraged my colleague to confide in me whenever he felt the need.

Thanks to the plethora of rather traumatic incidents to which he was exposed, my colleague took me up on the invitation and regularly poured out his heart to me. I can honestly say Father, that I fulfilled my role with dedication. However, my young recruit went one disclosure too far. He conveyed to me a very commonly held fear - it was the mind-numbing fear he had of dead bodies and his subsequent dread at the thought of dealing with one in the course of his duties.

Well, Father Simon, such an opportunity was too good to miss and as I possessed a sense of humour common to most police officers, i.e. warped and depraved, I shared this information with the rest of the section and we hatched a cunning plan.

The following week was to be the first that our colleague, whom I will now refer to as Constable X, was to experience patrolling alone, a threshold in any officer's career and one that di not escape our attention.

Situated in a musky, dimly lit Victorian backstreet was the City Mortuary and it was this ghoulish location that all the bodies of people unfortunate enough to pass away during the night were taken and laid out. It was no coincidence that Constable X was posted to the beat that covered the said Mortuary and thus he assumed responsibility for the premises.

It was shortly after 5am when the radio of Constable X crackled into life, breaking the silence of a cold, wintry night. From the radio room came the instruction to attend at the Mortuary and collect the wedding ring from the hand of Body No.77, which had been laid out earlier that night by an officer from a neighbouring division who had forgotten to remove the ring when itemising the deceased person's property.

It was a pale and drawn Constable X who walked into the station foyer a short time later to collect the key to the mortuary. As the station keeper passed him the key, lovingly adorned with a small wooden coffin as a key fob, he muttered some reassuring words about ignoring the reputation of the Mortuary as being the haunt of some notorious Liverpool ghosts. Constable x was not convinced and, putting a brave face, ventured out into the cold night to discharge his unpleasant duty.

A biting wind was howling as Constable X approached the archway at the entrance to the Mortuary, poorly lit by a solitary gas light. Nervously he placed the key in the lock and opened the door which, like that of all good mortuaries, was in grave need of a spot of oil. The design of the building was such that you had to walk the length of the main room in order to turn on the lights, which, at 5am and all alone, is something of a trial to those of a nervous disposition.

Constable X switched on his torch and started to walk along the tiled floor. The air was filled with the smell of formaldehyde and several of the bodies were situated on trolleys in front of the refridgerators. Having reached the light switch he turned them on, took a deep breath and turned around. Initially he stood rooted to the spot before gathering himself and moving towards the nearest body that was lying on a trolley, covered by a white sheet.

Tentatively he checked the number on the small tag attached to the big toe of the body, protruding from beneath the sheet. Slowly he moved along the bodies until he reached BODY 77. The left hand of the body could just be seen, adorned with the wedding ring that he sought. Even on such a cold night beads of sweat could be detected on the forehead of Constable X and his skin was pale and clammy. It was some time before he had composed himself enough to reach out for the cold motionless hand. However, as he grasped hold of the said hand he let out a piercing scream and threw himself backwards onto the floor as the body suddenly sat up rigidly and exclaimed, "CAN I HELP YOU?" Constable X immediately assumed a state of absolute panic, screaming at the top of his voice and scampering backwards on the floor like a double-jointed crab.

Eventually he got back to his feet and sprinted towards the exit of the mortuary. However, his legs soon began to buckle again as, first to his right and then to his left, body after body began to sit up accompanied by much groaning. It was eventually on all fours that he disappeared into the night pursued only by the sound of raucous laughter.

Of course, the "bodies" in question were, in fact, the warped work colleagues of constable X, of whom I was one.

Constable X, traumatised beyond belief, sadly resigned the next day despite our reassurances that he had merely been subjected to an initiation ceremony.

Yours sinfully,

Ray