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 Simon,

You've heard of Smokey and the Bandit, haven't you? Well, my confession is called Smokey and the Tunnel.

Smokey was my friend Brian's beautiful and arrogant grey cat. The tunnel was a heavy wooden one through which Brian's Hornby train would run. On rainy afternoons we would play with it, but Smokey was not welcome to join us, as he had so many times before pounced on the train as it sped past him, causing the most awful crashes.

On this particular day, Mallard was pulling all of the eleven trucks that Brian possessed, when in strolled Smokey. Knowing Smokey's past form for creating railway disasters, I brought the train to a halt, so that Brian could removed his marauding moggie.

To save the guard from a severe headache under Smokey's paws, I pulled the train just inside the tunnel. Smokey tensed, his eyes opened wide and he snuck forward, his chin on the deck, until his nose was just inside the tunnel mouth. I made the train move a little more, and as the brake van disappeared into the gloomy depths of the tunnel, Smokey tired to follow it, until the whole of his noble head filled the opening and his sleek stomach was laid upon the Up Main Line. Then I made the train crawl off slowly to see if he would try to struggle after it. Smokey, however, remained unmoved, still staring into the inky blackness, oblivious of the fact that all of the train was now out of the tunnel and moving slowly down the back straight.

Brain and I looked at each other, our minds working as one, but MY hand was on the controller.

I spun it round until it was hard against the stop, and all twelve of Mr Hornby's very best volts galvanized Mallard into action. Wheels spinning scrabbling for grip like Nigel Mansell launching his Williams Renault from pole position, she hurled her heavy train around the long bend, and when she reached the straight leading to the tunnel, her connecting rods a blur, she was the perfect reincarnation of the REAL Mallard pounding down Stoke Bank to take the World Speed Record for Britain all those years ago.

Doubtless remembering all the times Smokey had abused her in the past, I swear that she was still gaining speed when she struck the wicked pussie's posterior, and as she did so, several things seemed to happen at once.

Mallard stopped, very suddenly, the rest of her train crashing in a heap around her, and the red button on the controller went 'plop'.

More startling by far was the effect on Smokey. Nothing in his evil life so far had prepared him for being unexpectedly walloped in his posterior parts by a fast and heavy express train. Not only did he let out a banshee wail that echoed throughout the tunnel, but he also shot about a foot and a half straight upwards. I swear he'd have nearly made the ceiling, but he was hampered by several pounds of tunnel around his neck, which of course went up in the air with him.

A moment later, through our helpless tears of laughter, we could just glimpse a grey furry streak bolt for the bedroom door. Smokey never EVER came to play trains with us again.

Simon, I crave your forgiveness after all these years, not for giving Smokey his comeuppance, which of course he richly deserved, but for misusing such a magnificent model locomotive.

Am I forgiven?

Chris