THERE’S a lot to like about being a man.

We’re spared the agony and discomfort of pregnancy, we generally get paid more than the fairer sex and we can wear body hair with pride rather than have to painfully remove it as soon as it emerges.

All in all we have it great. Or do we?

What if you don’t conform to what a man is supposed to be? What if you don’t care about football, shy away from anything particularly heavy and can only just about re-wire a plug, let alone knock together a kitchen cabinet at a moment’s notice?

What if you’re like me, in other words?

In the parlance of the schoolyard I’ve always been a bit of a geek, more interested in reading 1984 for the hundredth time than discussing Steven Gerrard’s performance on the pitch.

While I’m not really bothered that this sort of thing apparently makes me less of a man in the eyes of the stereotypical macho Bloke, it can lead to some downright awkward situations.

Case in point – my car has started making a worrying rattling noise.

As a man I know full well what I should do is have a peek under the bonnet and have a bit of a fiddle about.

But the reality is I’ll have to take it to a garage and face the mocking laughs of the mechanics as it turns out to be something hilariously simple.

And that’s before I mention that I drive a purple Nissan Micra that used to belong to my mother – hardly the ‘quality motor’ the average Bloke would want to get behind the wheel of.

I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been introduced to another man and immediately been asked which football team I support only to be met with utter disbelief when I’ve said it’s not really my thing and, no, neither is rugby.

And the less said about the rise of Lad culture the better. Apparently what it means to be a man these days is to constantly insult your closest friends in the name of ‘banter’ while worshipping at the altar of ‘legends’ such as Jeremy Clarkson.

Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I packed it all in, bought an England football shirt and took up weightlifting.

But when it comes down to it I just don’t care. I’d rather have to keep calling my Dad when I need some DIY doing and suffer the scorn of other men.

So maybe it’s not that easy being a man after all.

Maybe, for some of us, our gender is less a blessing and more a terrible curse.

But then, we don’t have to go through childbirth, so maybe it's not so bad after all.