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

Bless me dear Simon,

Whilst in the third year of school, I was set a poetry assignment and as usual I had left it until the last minute. I was much happier listening to my new album of the unforgettable legends of pop history, the most excellent 'Then Jericho' whilst hopelessly swooning over the cover photograph of the lead singer Mark Shaw - the most beautiful man since Morten Harkett. Thus distracted to this extent I was unable to concentrate on my poem due in the next day.

Whilst glancing over the sleeve notes containing the lyrics I was struck, nay moved, by their inspirational qualities and that was when the idea cunningly infiltrated my common sense. To avoid the risk of detention from my teacher I foolishly copied down the lyrics to a whole song all about a woman being attacked by a hitchhiker but after my clever alterations, it read more as an angry piece of social commentary about the vulnerability of women on our streets.

The result from my teacher was more than I had anticipated. Not only did my poem come out top of the class, I was forced to read it out at the school assembly. Worse was still to come, however...

One day I was called to the staffroom to be informed that my poem had secretly been entered for the Cadbury's National Children's Poetry Competition and had won. The prize included the publication of the forgery in a book full of other poems; real poems written by honest children, plus the inclusion of the thing in a travelling national exhibition of children's art.

I should have said something then really, but the other prize of a huge bar of chocolate had inevitably meant my tastebuds had hijacked my conscience and prevented me from telling my proud teacher I was a fraud but it was already too late. The local press had hurriedly been informed of the fact that our school, notorious for anything but culture, had produced a prize-winning poet. So there I was smiling out from every local paper in the county holding my poem and certificate with a 'proud but poetically sensitive' expression on my face.

My parents were a complete nightmare. They were so chuffed at the revelation that the family had produced what they saw as the bard of the twentieth century. Everyone knew about it. I was in an impossible situation. I could not let down my school, my parents and the whole population of the village, could I?

The consequences of owning up were far too depressing to seriously contemplate. Would they tear out the pages that my poem was on in all the books? Would the local papers issue a press release or even worse write an investigative report into the scandal of the plaigiaristic poet who won a poetry competition with song lyrics from a crappy teen pin-up band? Hurriedly I ate the chocolate prize before they could repossess it and then had nightmares about the boss of Cadbury's making me vomit up the prize as a punishment. The sad thing was that I had started to believe I had actually written the thing myself and continued to do so for a long time. I even included the 'poem published in a book' bit of my UCCA for. In short, I was living a complete lie.

I come to you, then, Simon, to grant me absolution from this sin. It was just three weeks ago, that I finally and fully confessed this wicked deed, this smudge on my past, this stain on my otherwise unbesmirched character.

I would like this opportunity to do two things. Firstly to apologise to everyone who believed I was the next poet laureate, especially my parents and my English teacher, and to 'Then Jericho' for winning greater acclaim than they ever did for those lyrics and for not sharing my chocolate prize with them. Secondly, I would beg you, dear Simon, not to inform my parents or the board of Copyright if you discover my identity. Do you think three Hail Mary's would be enough?

Yours,

H