I have mere seconds to decide. I do what anyone would do after pressing the SOS button in a Vapour Room. I run outside and jump into the pool.

Oh dear, I think, my shorts full of air. They're going to arrest me. People probably go to jail all the time for causing false alarms in Vapour Rooms!

There is an awful wait, but then, from nowhere, a man in hotel uniform jogs towards the Vapour Room. He casts a concerned glance at me and pushes the door open. He disappears for perhaps five agonising seconds. Then he reappears and looks at me, suspiciously.

I pretend I am relaxing in the pool, and swish my arms around innocently. He waits for a second, and then walks away, grumpily.

Oh God, I think. Why didn't I just tell him? Why didn't I just say, 'I'm so sorry, I pressed the SOS button by accident!' I'm the only person here! He knows it must've been me!

I am very angry at myself. Now this man thinks I'm the sort of person who presses SOS buttons and then runs away, which is unfair, because I've only known that myself for about two minutes. Maybe he thinks I do it in disabled toilets, too, just for fun!

Hang on - maybe I do! Maybe I'm the sort of person who sets off fire alarms, or lets off extinguishers in the hallways! Just because I've never done it doesn't mean I'm not the sort of person who does it!

I am ashamed of my cowardice. I am an awful human being for not coming clean. I go back to my room and put the healthy glowing woman face down on the table. I do not deserve her gaze. The next time I do something like this, I resolve, I will be upfront. I will be honest.

In the morning, at checkout, the lady behind reception asks me if I used the Vapour Room at all last night.

I remember my valuable lesson.

'No,' I say, and I don't bother mentioning it to anyone at the awards ceremony, either.

NAKED

I am standing, cold and half-naked, in a small shower cubicle in North London, opposite a well-built man named Gary, who moments before was a mere stranger.

We are very close indeed.

'OK,' he says. 'Now just pop your trousers off.'

I look at Gary. Gary looks at me. I nod, and do as he says.

Now I am a man wearing only my pants, and I'm trying to look like I'm cool with this, that I'm always standing in small shower cubicles wearing just my pants with well-built strangers named Gary ... but then I realise that this is probably the wrong impression to be giving at this time, and so I look at my watch, which I discover I'm not wearing.

Gary kneels down and reaches around my waist with his big, burly arms.