As a human being I'm vaguely capable and as a man I am utterly useless. Women looking for a knight in shining armour should look elsewhere and ladies looking for love should try match.com.

I have the ability to burn soup, misplace the most important of items and occasionally leave stubble in the sink. When it comes to romantic gestures, I confuse practicality with sexuality and complimentary smooth talk falls off my tongue like a felled tree. I am about as appealing as a pile of steaming excrement.

However I share these characteristics with 50 per cent of the world's population. As a proud man I hesitate not in the slightest in accepting that I am a complete and utter idiot. Nonetheless, it's this immaturity that seems to attract women to the male cause. In an effort to correct our ways, the world's ladies spend time and effort over the male charity, hoping in some way to mould us into the perfect being, to mould us into Adam Brody.

However, there are a few problems with Mr Brody; not least that he has a perm much in the style of your aged Grandma. No, Mr Brody's biggest flaw is that he only has interest in women his age. That's right fellow readers, in order to be a real man one must have an all-consuming crush on an older woman. This is of course contextually speaking. As a 17-year-old, an older women constitutes anything between the ages of 30 and 40. For my dad, the same applies to the years 50 to 60 and for my grandad, well anything that still breathes would do just fine.

The older woman theory can be seen in such relationships as Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher, Elton John and David Furnish. The thing is, as men we like to get things wrong. If I wear my jumper back to front my girlfriend will turn it round for me. If I spill my tea on my jeans my mum will wash them for me. If I spend all my money on Series one to five of A Place In The Sun, my Grandma will increase my allowance. Women, it could be argued, clearly enjoy doting on us men.

However, this mothering is paid back in the only way we know how. As the immature beer-swilling goof-balls that we are, we add humour to a situation. It's based on this theory that I'm going to marry Amanda Lamb.

To me she is the perfect being. Long in stance, dark in hair and large in breast, she is stunning. When amused her mouth widens in a way that can only be compared to the Biblical parting of the sea. The teeth revealed are of the most effortlessly white tone this side of a polar bear's backside. I want nothing more than to begin each day waking to the sight of her sprawled out on my bed.

For this I will repay her with my witty opinions on things like global warming or vegetarians. Occasionally, I'd try to be romantic by burning her a surprise meal of cheese on toast or maybe, if I was feeling adventurous, poached eggs. She would find my malfunctions cute, adorable, maybe even sexy.

There is one slight hiccup in my plan - convincing my girlfriend that a three-way relationship isn't necessarily a bad thing.