If there’s one thing that annoys me about living the countryside it’s the sex life. In the city there are nightclubs and bars and pubs full of very drunk people who are up for everything, but you go to the local in the country and the only drunks in them are farmers and in Norfolk they tend to own shotguns.

Even if I was gay that’s definitely not the sort of loaded implement I want shoved up my rear end thank you. And the thing is, when you finally find a pub with women in you wish you were gay. It takes brave man to venture inside around here.

So what you say, everyone gets enough sex when you’re at high school…

No, not around here.

The thing is, we get all the same hormonal rushes, the same dirty thoughts and the same wet dreams but we live miles apart. I mean, most people need satellite navigation around here just to find their way down their drive. So you can’t just walk your catch home from school and sneak upstairs to her bedroom to do help her with her biology – no you need damn good reasons for your mum to fetch the keys to the 4x4 and burn several gallons to petrol to get laid when you’re at school.

Believe me, I tried it all. And even when I was successful you find yourself with one added problem; condom machines don’t grow on trees.

The only reason I know that condoms come in a vendable form is because after a trip back from London I wondered why the expensive jellybeans I had bought were slightly tougher than normal. It had puzzled me why they were vending them in a public lavatory.

No, in the rural area you have to find alternatives. Condoms haven’t existed forever, and I’m pretty sure that cavemen didn’t resort to the ‘natural’ method of contraception once they had a sufficiently large army of sprogs running around.

No, out here there really is only one option: Pigs’ stomachs. Now, I know that a few vegetarians might grimace at the thought of killing a pig just so you can can get laid – but more than half the time we use the stomach of a pig that has already been slaughtered rather than killing a new one.

To be honest, I’m sure my dad must have been suspicious as to why I had been slaughtering the occasionally pig at random, though he never said anything.

I’m sure that most of you city types are squirming at the thought of tying the stomach lining of a pig around your manhood, or having it thrust around you, but I tell you what. It certainly does nothing to hinder the experience and none of the girls I pulled have ever got pregnant.

Admittedly, I never saw any of them a second time, but I’m sure that’s just another fact of a life you have to accept when living in a rural area.