Flaws? Me? How much time have you got to read this? Ok (deep breath) here I go.

I like to walk. A lot. I even bound up and down stairs, not because I’m claustrophobic about lifts, but because I think that not taking the stairs is lazy. I’ll walk anywhere and I frequently do, even if would be far easier and more convenient to hail the nearest cab.

I’m obsessed about staying in shape. Every night I try to do about 50 press-ups. It seems to be working in that I have muscles for the first time in ages. Keeping those muscles is going to be a pain. Oh and I must stop staring at my abdomen and poking at what I’m afraid is fat and is in fact part of a new muscle. My wife keeps rolling her eyes and telling me not to be stupid.

Part of the above means that I have to have a walk every night, no matter what the weather is like and even if it’s dark. My favourite walk is in Epping Forest. Last night two brambles almost tripped me up and I almost lost a boot to the most gloopy patch of mud I’ve ever seen there. But without that walk I can’t unwind. I’ll be glad once the clocks go back again and I can walk in daylight however.

I have the remains of a cleanliness OCD. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was however and I don’t even wash my neck after Tiggy licks it (that cat is ridiculously spoilt – he now expects to be picked up by me and cuddled as Kathleen gives him his insulin jab). That said, it’s still there in the back of my mind, watching me as I watch myself.

I’m seldom able to make a financial decision straight away. I prefer to wait and think it through. This has its obvious drawbacks.

I miss my hair. I used to have luxuriant flowing locks, but the curse of genetics has left me with a receding legacy of those locks. That said, at least I no longer check my reflection every five minutes for errant hair behaviour.

Whenever we leave a hotel room I have to check it to make sure that we haven’t forgotten anything, even if we’ve only been there for one night. I even look under the bloody bed.

Not having a bath every night is unhygienic. Especially when I return from walking in the forest, sorry that should be slopping through the mud, and the weather is so mild that I have to undo my coat to let the heat out.

I can’t stop writing fan fiction. I just can’t. My brain refuses to turn off its ability to think up new scenarios for characters that have almost become old friends.

If the sink is full of dirty dishes I have to clean them, if only because I like my morning coffee in my favourite mug.

If I don’t have something to read on me (or close to me) I remain convinced that I’ll go raving mad.

I have a lurking dislike of the English. I’m sorry, but I’m a Celt (mostly Welsh with some Cornish and Irish) who has studied history. Whenever I hear an Englishman complaining about how the Welsh/Scots/Irish/Cornish hate the English I want to laugh bitterly and then give a pompous lecture on historical injustices.

I keep seeing the ridiculous in most situations. If a bolide was hurtling towards the exact spot where I’m sitting right now I’d probably say something on the lines of “Well, at least we don’t have to work out what to have for supper tonight!”

I know what a bolide is because I have a boundless fascination for useless information. Long words too. I used to watch “Yes Minister” and “Yes Prime Minister” and understand what Sir Humphrey Appleby would say.

I worry about the possibility that I’ll become as bad a worrier as my father.

I have a nasty tendency to hog the bedclothes at 3am and then say something on the lines of “Mnnnrrggg!” when Kathleen points this fact out to me. I have no idea about this point, I’m too busy being asleep.

I want the Republican ticket for 2012 to be Palin/Bachmann, because the sheer… insanity that would result would be just delicious as neither of them has the faintest clue about the real world. Is that a flaw?