Bob Cuffe.

I confided a guilty secret last week, in that I took an interest, and voted, in the recent local election. I think we know each other well enough for me to open up even more. You know about the Woolworth's Lemon Bon Bon Heist, but I have other, darker guilty secrets.

Firstly, I like corned beef. How common is that? The Journal is the natural home for the middle class. The leading business executives of the region. Movers and shakers. Not the coughers and spitters. And these high fliers don't do corned beef. They do prawn sandwiches which, as Roy Keane told us, are what posh people eat. Some of you will have prawns for breakfast, I'll bet.

I hate myself for liking corned beef. I blame my parents. They were poor people, who knew no better. They introduced me to corned beef at a young age. Likewise brawn. Which is, without doubt, the most revolting foodstuff known to man. Brawn and sprouts would be the meal from hell. Unless you can think of something more dastardly. If you can, please keep it to yourself.

I also like the Scissor Sisters. I'm surely not alone here, but I can't find anyone else who will own up. No one wants to join me in a corned beef sandwich while listening to the Scissor Sisters. Their loss, if you ask me.

I'm addicted to Deal Or No Deal. This is perhaps my deepest shame. I should know better. It's a feeble concept. Pure random pot luck. Played by contestants who don't know better. Skint people, who believe in lucky numbers. Luck that has served them up small jobs and polyester clothes. Unpleasant people seem to win lots of money. The clearly deserving go home with a fiver. I know. I've watched every programme.

I'm now unable to stop. It's on series link. There, ready for me, when I get home. If I was a teacher I'd be able to watch it in real time. Perhaps it's a contributor to the exceptionally high stress levels we keep reading about in the teaching profession. So much time at home. So many holidays. So much television to watch. So many choices. And the unbearable tension of Deal or No Deal coming at you six days a week. Got to be a factor. I'm sure someone will sue.

And I'm drawn to local radio phone-ins. Another complete and utter waste of time. I'm a very talented people watcher. I've done it all my life, and I'm good at it. I don't think there's a finer form of entertainment than just watching people.

I've applied to all the CCTV centres in the region. Sitting in front of a bank of monitors, snooping on people, is my idea of heaven. To be able to do it and get paid for it is beyond my wildest dreams. Beats hiding behind hedges, I'll tell you that. And some people are so inconsiderate. There are hedges out there that haven't been trimmed for years. I've got the scratches to prove it. Perhaps I should sue?

Any high street would make very enjoyable viewing. Spotting the Deal Or No Deal types. Green coats. Gormless expressions. Being able to openly laugh at their misfortune, would sustain any cold soul. Focusing in on the shops that convert unwanted goods into hard cash. The ones that advertise smiling people ( smartly dressed, smiling people ( happily handing over family heirlooms for loose change. I suspect the reality is somewhat different. And, thanks to CCTV technology, I'd be able to see for myself.

The radio phone-in is the next best thing to people watching. People listening. Radio hosts with nothing to say. Listeners with nothing to do. Not until they take their watch in to the place where smiley people go. And these pointless people are united through a phone-in. Sometimes world events make the phone-in relevant and worthwhile. Until you hear what People With Nothing To Do have to say. In a nutshell, They're Not Racist, but.

Sometimes world events don't reach out. And so The Radio Host ( once ambitious, but now absolutely clearly, never going anywhere ( has to find a topic. Recently, I've heard two that I think take some beating.

Firstly, and I kid you not: "What is it like to have a heart attack? Ring in and tell us." I can tell you on good authority that the consensus is that it's not nice. It's scary. The radio host asked: "'Do you know it's a heart attack?" The answer, astonishingly, is yes. If you're having a heart attack, you're likely to know about it. Unless you're asleep. In which case you won't, until you wake up. There was no discussion about diet, fitness or any preventative tips. It sort of accepted the inevitability of a heart attack, and wanted to guide you through the What To Do's.

The second hot topic was "how much sleep do you need?" Some people need more than others. Churchill used to have a kip during the day. Beryl only needs four hours. Harry needs nine. The response was staggering. Everyone wanted to tell everyone about their own sleep patterns. Suddenly there was a topic they genuinely knew about. This wasn't just open to those lucky swines that had had cardiacs.

I'm just waiting for the phone-in on corned beef. I'll be straight on. What are your guilty secrets? And any worse phone-in topics?

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