Orson Carte, our man on the tools, ponders life's great mysteries ...

It would be ridiculous of you to think that prior to last weekend I had never spoken in public. That would be quite impractical. I'd only be allowed to speak in private homes or members clubs, which would make running into an acquaintance on the street very awkward and uncomfortable.

They'd ask me questions such as "How are you?" and I'd either have to nod or write my response down on a miniature whiteboard I would have to carry for just such a purpose. I suppose I could go to the trouble of learning sign language, and then teaching it to everyone I know (not as many people as you might imagine), but, to be honest with you, I am quite a lazy person, so that option is not very appealing.

So, in reality, I have been speaking in public all my life, especially if you count the strange gurgling noises babies make as speaking. No, what I'm referring to is the more conventional notion of 'public speaking' - that is, talking in front of a number of people who have gathered to listen to your every word. In that way, it differs from ordinary conversation, or at least from my experience of it.

In famous footsteps

In this instance, I had decided to make my PSD (public speaking debut) at London's famous Speaker's Corner. This is located in the equally famous Hyde Park, the location for last year's fabulous Live 8 concert. So you could say that in a way, I was making my debut on the same stage as had been trod by Madonna, Paul McCartney, Pink Floyd and Robbie Williams. Except that you be telling an enormous lie.

The reason I'd chosen to make my PSD at Speakers' Corner was that I'd read it was a place where people could come to put forward their views on all manner of subjects, drawing an interested and discerning audience. I thought it would be a good place to 'get up on my soapbox' about the issues facing security installers these days, including the added paperwork due to new Euro standards, parking wardens' prejudice against van drivers, and the difficulties in adapting to new IP-based security systems.

Unfortunately, the only 'soapbox' I could find at my house was a half-empty carton of washing machine powder my mother had carelessly left out of the cupboard. When I attempted to stand on it for a practice run, it collapsed under my weight. Ha ha ha! If only I was joking.

Instead, I took along with me a plastic recycling box which I had not realised I owned. I find recycling to be a slightly embarrassing pursuit.

Around the corner

I know you will probably find it incredibly hard to believe, but on the day that I was due to go and 'do my thing' at Speakers' Corner I was incredibly nervous. I imagine it was a case of stagefright - a phenomenon I had heard of in the past, but had previously thought was simply the sort of excuse that acting types came out with whenever someone accused them of not being able to get a proper job. I'm not entirely convinced that isn't the case, but the nerves I felt that morning were almost as bad as those I experienced on the evening I had booked in to lose my virginity.

When I arrived at Speakers' Corner I was both pleased and terrified to see a large crowd had gathered. Whether they were there to see me, or had just popped by for some random entertainment, I'll never know. I set up my box, and after a few deep breaths and a large swig of the vodka and Lilt I had brought with me, I clambered on board.

Almost immediately I felt sick to my stomach. A crowd was gathering around chest-height, and without any warning all of my carefully prepared lines, bon mots and harangues had gone. Vanished. I had nothing.

I'd never experienced anything like this before. Although some people have cruelly described me as ‘wilfully arrogant', I think I normally exude a confident charm that immediately puts those in my company at their ease. Not today, however.

Religion saves

Standing on that plastic recycling box with my vodka and Lilt doing cartwheels in my stomach, I knew that I'd have to say something if my audience were not to start drifting away to other, more experienced public speakers.

I found my attention being drawn towards another speaker, not too far along from, who had drawn a sizeable crowd of his own. He was discussing, loudly and in no uncertain terms, his objections to the Catholic notion of ‘transubstantiation', in which the bread and wine at their Eucharist becomes, quite literally, the body and blood of Christ. He claimed this was not the case. At least, this is what I understand from the brief snatch of his diatribe I was able to hear.

I did the only thing that my brain was able to come up with at the time. Taking a huge breath, I screamed "Bollocks!" at the nearby speaker, and leapt off my recycling box, ran towards him, and tackled him to the ground. To this day, I am unsure why I did this. I have no strong religious convictions, let alone an interest in the intricacies of Biblical interpretation. But it seemed, at the time, my only option.

After explaining this to the unamused policemen, who seemingly appeared from nowhere, I was allowed to leave, on the condition that I never return to Speakers' Corner again. Thankfully, I have no intention of ever doing so.