I am Conor Maynard

...So there I was, chilling out in my Newcastle hotel room, and suddenly I'm aware that people are shouting a bit in the street outside. The shouting becomes screaming. I look out the window - and there beneath me in the street are about 1000 teenaged girls, all of whom see me and start screaming like I'm Elvis.

I run from the window. I close the curtains. I peek out again... they start screaming and waving. Suddemly they're all taking my photograph.

I phone reception:

"Um... why are there 1000 screaming teenaged girls in the street waving at me?"

"Ah, yes," says the receptionist, rather sheepishly, "Conor Maynard has just finished his concert, and they're waiting to see him. If it starts to upset you, we can see about changing your room?"

I was relieved, of course. But imagine if I actually were Conor Maynard? How stifling and horrible would it be to have 1000 girls outside your hotel room every night screaming like banshees and waving pairs of knickers around their heads?

Thing is. I don't actually know who Conor Maynard is...