When I was six or so, I was far keener on sewing than I am now. My mum just couldn't keep up with my insatiable appetite for material fragments to turn into dolly clothes.

Being a resourceful child, I looked around the house to find more material. I'm not entirely sure why I used my brother's duvet cover instead of my own, but I think it had something to do with the belief that the crime would be traced back to him, rather than me.

I only cut out the underside of the duvet cover - making it almost impossible to spot. That is, however, until my mum put my brother to bed that night.

I was immediately confronted and, of course, flatly denied any involvement with the duvet cover vandalism. Having spent the last two days badgering my mum for material, I wasn't wholly convincing.

In the face of this disbelief, I cried. The surprising thing about my brother was that, faced with my tears, he would normally accept the blame for any misdemeanour that I cared to offload my guilt for. (He has grown out of that, unfortunately). My mum was, of course, wise to this.

Even when faced with the incontrovertible evidence of dollies bizarrely clad in soft furnishings, I maintained my innocence and compounded the accusations against my brother.

Sorry Matthew.