Right up until 18, I simply had no need to borrow any money. I had lived my teenage years within budget from income derived from a vast array of jobs including plucking turkeys in the snow for Christmas, stacking shelves in Tesco at night, cleaning the Five Bells pub, working the till in a convenience store, cleaning cars, blah, blah. All good boy scout stuff.

Then University hit me. There simply was not enough dough for my newly found high hormone induced partying requirements. It was running out quicker than Tony Blair from an ethics committee. Faster than George Bush from a spelling bee. I had to do something, and fast. Rang home, no joy there. Then, walking through the students' union I came across a leaflet (rather it was pushed into my face by a flourescent-jacketed lady with teeth too white to be trustworthy) telling me that some company called Barclaycard would give me £250 completely free of charge! Whay hey! I duly signed up, making sure that I enter "Sir" in the "Title" field of the form. (How hilarious I found those final demands addressed to Sir Mark Attwood).

Then, a Mastercard somehow found it's way into my wallet when Mr Barclay didn't wanna play no more.

How I loved all this free money and it's ability to buy all my friends Chinese at 3am.

Skip a year and I'm in the bank, sat in front of the "Student Advisor":

"You see, I need this overdraft in order to complete my studies, otherwise the past two years have been flatulence"

Skip another year. Same guy:

"It's really important that I socialise in order to network as a journalist. This extension to my overdraft will facilitate me getting work in the future, therefore it is neccessary if I am ever to pay it off"

Skip another year. On the phone this time. Call centre has replaced "Student Advisor":

"whaddya mean, you've terminted my overdraft facility! Let me speak to the advisor.." Cut off.

Somehow in this period, I managed to secure a mortgage. But this was back when you could pick up a 3 bedroomed house for less than the cost of a Ford Focus.

No probs: work is thin, but I can rent the rooms out. Cue two years sharing a house with idiots. Get rid of housemates for a better quality of life. Income drops, pick a career in showbiz, less money, letters start turning red to the dreaded black.

Got an accountant by now. Age 26. He says: "Go bankrupt. Your £40k in the hole with no obvious way to pay it back"

I disagree and embark on a five year crusade to pay back every damned penny.

Did it.

Then the real loans start: big mortgage, £30k for an extension, £30k for a car, £30k for another extension. Why do they keep giving me all this money?

One reason: equity. Got into the housing market and built equity. Another reason: overpaid loans due to fear of going back to the dark times. Another reason: didn't borrow more than I could afford.

Result: I learned the hard way. Don't get in over your head and don't listen to anyone except yourself.