'Mr Sex' wants to know about your Skanky Bedroom Experiences

Right, well...sorry I've been AWOL for a bit, but I've attending to some extremely important business; I've been making my bedroom one-night-stand-compliant again. Not that I'm on a promise or anything; it's the kind of thing one can't leave to chance. The overflowing wastebasket has been emptied. The 20 year-old copies of Viz have gone back on the shelves. The sex toys up for reviewing have been pushed as far back in the wardrobe as possible. The framed Su Pollard LP cover is still on the wall, though - some aspects of your personality can't be hidden, and nor should they be.

Now then; I have no wish to get all Kim and Aggie on any man's arse, but if you are intending on bringing lady-flies into your spiderly parlour, there are two areas of the house you must get sorted; the bedroom and the bog.

(And let's not talk about the latter for now, seeing as the seat on my toilet is so slidey at the moment that I'm terrified that, one morning, I'm going to suddenly toboggan all the way down the stairs and onto the street with me trousers round me ankles, still reading the paper. But anyway)

When it comes to the boudoir, so many men get it horribly, horribly wrong. Actually, that's a misnomer; they actually fail to get it right, and then keep it that way, letting their bedrooms fall into chronic disrepair. Let me give you some examples of the worst bedroom-related atrocities that I've come across, through my many years of house-sharing;

* A bedside table groaning with miniature jars of potted meat (some still open and crusted up), accompanied by a packet of mouldy finger rolls and a flask of tea, as if he was a bedridden Nana - a very sexy look, as you can imagine

* A floor pitted with crusty tissues and a three-quarter-full bottle of Coke with the top off that had congealed to the point where it didn't slop out when it was kicked over

* A room that had cables running from it from three laptops, all the way down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen

* A wardrobe containing a brewing vat that the occupant would piss into instead of walking twenty yards to the toilet (this was in halls of residence at Uni; when the heating went on in the winter, the pipe it was wedged against warmed up and melted the plastic, causing severe leakage and an entire floor of people having to sleep in the gym like survivors of a nuclear attack)

* A telly the size of God's face in the corner, a floor looking like a branch of Blockbusters after an earthquake, and a bedside table consisting of family packs of Mars bars, a paintballing gun, and assorted Playstation joypads

Now, one day soon, I'm going to teach you how to get your bedroom properly sorted for a night of tuppery. But until then, I'm calling upon the fair ladies of the Todger Talk community to answer the following question; what was the worst bedroom you've ever been lured into, and what turns you off quicker than seeing John McCain in his pants, giving his cobblers a right good scratching and doing that horrible smiley scowly thing he does? I don't need you to name, but I would like you to shame. Tell us, and spare no detail...

(NB - and yeah, I'm totally aware that women can be just as guilty of this, but it doesn't matter as much. A woman could have the rotting corpses of her entire family in her bed, and we still probably would, wouldn't we?)