I HAVE to rid myself of all my sleaze and crassness.
What disturbing character flaws will fill this huge void I don’t know but I have to become more wholesome.
I have to strive to be a pillar of the community as I now have responsibilities.
This week I was Godfather at the Christening of Katie Durham, whose parents are dear friends of mine.
For a moment I feared it may be a deliberate kindness on their part like in the Hugh Grant film About a Boy, where his pals offer him the role to save him from a life of meaningless one night stands.
Then I reassured myself I was nowhere near that successful with women.
I considered which of the Godfathers I should emulate – Brando, De Niro or Pacino.
I liked the husky voice of Brando although my impression would make even an innocent chat sound like an obscene phone call.
The honour is one I take seriously and I am readying myself for the Satan fighting that I understand is sometimes involved.
I was worried about the ceremony, though, as I wasn’t entirely sure what I had to do and say.
Having been to a Catholic school, people often imagine I know more about religion and theology than I do.
I dreaded hearing the vicar say the words: “And the Godparents will now quote from memory a long and confusing passage of scripture.”
Even worse was the fear that a church helper clutching one of my more controversial columns would come running in and demand the service be stopped and I be horsewhipped.
After each Christening the vicar, who seemed somewhat of a renegade, held the baby aloft to the crowd like the mad monkey in The Lion King.
I expected him to say: “I welcome you Simba...I mean Katie.”
He later awkwardly mentioned that the church welcomed donations.
Sadly it did not occur to me at the time that this would have been the ideal moment to try a Pacino-esque: "First you da money, den you get da power, den you get da wimin."
True the quote didn't come from the famous trilogy but if I had supplemented it with a light cheek slap that us Godfather types favour I feel sure he would have got the reference.
I may be biased but we definitely had the best baby there.
Hardly a sniffle when her head was wetted, just a look of suspicion.
Many of the other little ones did not share Katie’s cool reserve and were bawling at the top of their tiny lungs.
As I passed the Godparents of these squealing beasts on the way out, I was glad to see they failed to make eye contact.
Too ashamed I imagine.
Not wanting to make a scene inside the church, I resisted the urge to say to these strangers: “Mate, your baby needs to man up.”