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 might think that nativity plays are the very epitome of Christmas - children sweet and angelic acting out that first Christmas story, glowing faces, proud parents and warm hearts. Most of this is usually true, but at St James Primary School in 1967 things got slightly out of hand.

In our school, it was always the top infant's class that got to perform the traditional play. Even though we were young the jostling for the best parts started early. Unsurprisingly the roles of Mary and Joseph were most sought after, followed by the three kings, then came the shepherds and various assorted angels, cattle and so on. As I had played the part of the Pied Piper in a school assembly three months previously I had to admit that I fancied my chances of getting Joseph or a gold-bearing King at least.

Unfortunately for me and my best mate Darren, we were caught throwing our school potatoes at the class weed who was called Tom. The consequences of this harmless event was calamitous. I neither got the role of Joseph nor a king nor a shepherd but of that of third innkeeper. I was truly gutted. Third innkeeper? It didn't even merit a mention in the programme, or duplicated sheet to be precise. How could I impress my fellow nine-year-olds as a pathetic one-line-only innkeeper? For the record my words were as follows: 'Sorry, we've no room'. Hardly going to impress the school, was it? To make things worse, the boy who teased my sister for having a big nose got the part of Joseph, and got to rehearse with the delectable Jennifer Wilkes who was selected to play Mary. All us grown up nine year olds fancied her, well as much as a nine year old can anyway.

Revenge was clearly called for. There were three performances of our nativity play and I decided that it was the last one, on Friday afternoon, with all the parents in dutiful attendance, that was to be the target of my shockingly well-planned spite. So the scene was set. The stage as I recall looked a picture - Bethlehem AD O. The First Christmas. A nervous Mary and frightfully overacting Joseph approach the first inn; towels on hear and tied dressing gowns about them. "Is there any room at the inn?" intoned Joseph. "Sorry, we're full," says innkeeper 1. On a few steps, "Is there any room at this inn?" says Joseph again. "Sorry we're full tonight," says innkeeper 2. And on they come to my inn. I've been waiting.

Now I have to say in my defence that I didn't know the meaning of what I was about to say. It was something I'd heard one of the top years say. I knew it was a naughty word but that was it. Back to the stage. Knock knock. "Is there any room at the inn, please?" says the dreadful Joseph. And in my best acting voice I said, "No. Bugger off!"

Looking back I suppose it could have been worse. But not at the time. To say that there was an audible intake of breath is an understatement. To say I got a belting is an understatement. Needless to say this was the end of my acting career and I'm now a supermarket manager who tells his staff off for swearing.

Yours in supplication,

Tom