WHILE interviewing a member of the TV licensing authority, I was amused by the list of excuses conjured up by members of the public who had been caught without a licence.

The dog chewed it up, the children tore it – one person even blamed a microwave oven as to why they had not been able to produce a valid licence.

I tut-tutted, yet I had no right to do so. Recently, when I drove through a restricted area in a busy city centre, missing the huge warning signs, the first thing I thought of was: “What excuse do I make to wriggle out of a fine?”

I’m ashamed to admit I’ve escaped a few parking fines by rabbiting on about freak gusts of wind blowing my permit into the footwell. I struggled with that once, though, as the council had filmed inside the car. Yet they still let me off, when I insisted it was so closely wedged to the side they must have missed it.

Some may deny it, but we are all guilty of making excuses. Whether it was why we hadn’t done our homework as children, or why we were late for work as adults. Instead of telling the truth: “I slept through my alarm,” we make up elaborate stories: “A meteorite fell on my car.”

This column was sparked by a book I found in a charity shop: The Book of Big Excuses, containing excuses for every occasion. It should come in useful.

I’d like to know what the difference is between an excuse and a lie. An excuse sounds milder, less calculated, yet the two are really no different. We always feel we have to justify ourselves – I even make up excuses when I don’t need to.

If I’m late meeting someone due to unforseen traffic problems, for instance, I feel I have to add more nightmare scenarios, such as my oven exploding or dropping my car keys down a drain.

It’s like when you ring in sick – even though you can speak normally, you don’t want to appear well, so you put on the voice of a 90-a-day smoker with a swollen tongue.

Thinking about it, I make excuses every day. Last night, when my husband asked me to buy one item for him during my weekly shop, and I came back without it, I told him they didn’t have any left. “No coffee? That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Well, they didn’t have the one you like,” I muttered.

This year I’m going to try and kick the habit of making excuses and tell it like it is. You can bet this will be the year when a meteorite falls on the car, and no one will believe me.