IF someone asked me what aspect of my personality people find most irritating, I'd have no hesitation in replying. It would almost certainly be my constant chatter - my inability to keep my mouth shut for longer than it takes to chew a mouthful of food.

It's been a problem since childhood - my school reports are littered with the word 'chatterbox', usually appearing alongside expressions like 'disruptive influence', and 'easily distracted'.

And, decades on, it's still a problem. I haven't grown out of the urge to talk incessantly, to jabber nineteen to the dozen regardless of my situation - oddly, the desire is even stronger when I'm at the cinema or in a meeting at work and am supposed to keep quiet.

I don't know why - the kindest explanation is an inquiring mind - but I've either always got something to say or a question to ask. And I hate having to wait - in case I forget the earth-shattering piece of trivia that is just SO important.

My husband goes crazy. "Can't you keep quiet for a minute?" he will ask as I twitter on while he tries to watch the news.

"Where's that earthquake with thousands dead?" I'll pipe up.

"I don't know," he will say, "I couldn't hear for you talking."

I know when I'm doing it and feel bad about my habit but, like an addict, I'm hooked on chat.

And now, I've discovered, I can't do a thing about it. Girls, it appears, are born chatterboxes. Scientists studying language differences between the sexes have revealed that genetics have a lot to do with the way our conversation develops. Girls tend to pick up a wide range of verbal skills very early on and grow up to use them accordingly.

Hence my problem - the trouble is, I seem to have been 'blessed' with a higher than average number of chat genes. Even female friends - many born to chat - can't get a word in edgeways.

They can't believe I've made a career out of journalism, in which listening to others is so vitally important. In fact, my job is the one area where I've had to curtail the banter.

Over the years I've mastered the art of listening to people and some interviewees have got so far as to utter a whole sentence before I chip in with my next question.

Commenting on the research, by the London-based Institute of Psychiatry, one female lecturer came out with the bizarre observation: "Nowadays, women can talk and carry on cooking or talk and carry on driving." That's nothing - I can talk and carry on sleeping.

According to my husband, even after a day of non-stop, full-on chat, I continue to mumble to myself all night long.

I even attempted to chat while having a recent dental check. Not easy with a rotary enamel cleaning tool buzzing away in your mouth.

Thankfully, when telephone chatlines first emerged, age was against me. Had they been around in my youth, my parents' phone bill would have read like a telephone number.

I may not be famous, but if ever there's a perfect candidate for a chat show, it's me. Only I'd never shut up. I can't - you see it's in my genes.

Bored, but strangely fascinated, I watched the first episode of Big Brother on Channel 4, in which ten young adults have to live together for nine weeks under 24-hour surveillance. In a few days time the public will get a chance to vote for one of the house members to leave.

I found the residents all highly objectionable in one way or another. Is there any chance we can vote to pull the plug on the lot of them?