We may be dab hands at whipping up a cheese soufflé, but our tools lie unloved, gathering dust at the end of the garden. It's time for men to get practical and create a new DIY boom

Like many people, I spend most of my working life typing at a computer. During the course of a normal day writing things for the telly, almost everything I do is – well, cerebral is too big a word for Top Gear, but you know what I mean.

After a day like that, an evening spent fixing things – messing around with a bicycle or doing a spot of DIY – is an immense therapy. It is very refreshing to do something with your hands, even if it's only to clean your shoes. Or take a clock to bits and put it back together. Or mend an old motorcycle.

Manual work stimulates and uses a part of your brain that's otherwise lying dormant. It's like one of those yogic stretches that pulls on a muscle that you never normally use. You think: "Wow, ow – that hurts a bit, but it's quite nice." In recent years I've found myself craving evenings on my own in the garage. I love to go round to my brother's house just to hear his kids say: "My Scalextric isn't working." That's me occupied for the rest of the day.

Mobile phones, computers, digital cameras – they're all brilliant, but I see very little joy and beauty in them because everything is hidden, obfuscated, and you can't actually see how it works. Mechanics have far more poetry to them and are somehow closer to the human condition than electronics. A mechanical camera, or a steam locomotive with the valve gear on the outside of the wheel, or the derailleur of a bicycle, is wondrous stuff.

I'm often criticised for being nerdy. And that's because it's true. I don't entirely know what OCD is, but I know it's very fashionable to accuse people of having it if they try and do something properly, and I am obsessive about small things – the tininess of wires behind the television, whether or not screwheads line up on things.

Since the rise of laddism there's been a notion that men are incompetent, and that somehow this is fashionable and a bit cool. It seems pretty clear from the research and the reports we've seen lately that women are better at everything than men, and men seem to have just caved in and accepted this.

A couple of years ago I started to get bored with this prevailing wisdom. And I don't think I'm the only one. I sense a change in the national mood: men don't want to be hopeless any more, and women – well, they are fed up with the notion of beer-swilling blokes who just watch the football all afternoon. They don't want us to be useless: they want us to have a bit more clout and be a bit more dependable.

And mostly I think men miss being practical, doing stuff with tools, making things – having hobbies. It was evident when we made Toy Stories for the BBC last year. Once we started trying to build a giant train set or a real bridge built out of Meccano, hundreds of people came forward: they were desperate to bolt things together and wire stuff up.

Nobody will actually admit to enjoying these kinds of hobbies normally, because it's seen as a bit sad. But if somebody could just stand up and say: "Don't worry – it's OK to like this stuff" then everybody will go: "Wahey! Thank God for that – let's build a boat!" What I'm saying is: it's not uncool to know how to use all the tools in your toolbox.

My love of fixing stuff – and generally fiddling with things – goes back to childhood. I inherited a bit of it from my dad: he worked in the manufacturing industry, running steel foundries, so he was always a hands-on person, technically and practically minded. When I was a small boy we had an old house that didn't have any central heating – so he just put it in himself. He didn't have a shed or a workshop, but there were always tools lying around in the garage, and I knew where they were and how to use them. Rather than sitting over me and teaching me these things, Dad just let me get on with it and subtly encouraged my practical hobbying.

I was always tinkering with things, trying to make a glider that would actually fly out of the bedroom window or a parachute that would work with my brother's Action Man. It was normal boys' stuff when I was a lad. Lego was one of my prime preoccupations, although we didn't have a huge amount of it. I think not having a lot is a good thing because it stimulates your imagination. And, of course, in those days we only had standard Lego bricks, not these newfangled ones that are special shapes and blah blah blah…

I used to spend hours designing aeroplanes and ships in Lego or making Airfix models. A fixation with the military was quite normal back then: there were still a lot of war stories, and the Second World War was very much in the public consciousness. For kids it was a convenient, recent, believable real-life action-adventure story that we could base our own games on. So you read Commando comics, and you made models of Spitfires and tanks and the Bismarck and HMS Hood.

When I got a bit older, me and my mates would build bicycles. I never had a new bicycle: between us we would swap parts and put bits together and eventually end up with an interesting bike. Then you'd take it to pieces and modify it: maybe this time it would go faster, but it wouldn't go round corners as well. The bespoke bicycles I made when I was a young teen remain some of my proudest achievements. One was silver, with a ghosted blue bit at the front of the frame – a little bit, I think now, like the motorcycles BMW was producing in the 80s. I made plates for the brakes, scrounged some wheels and was absolutely chuffed to bits with it.

I have, of course, had disappointments. One, which I have never been able to talk about before, was the giant radio-controlled glider that I made with my mate Colin. It had taken us ages to get hold of the radio-controlled gear and when we fitted the radio and a little engine on the front to take it up to altitude it launched successfully. But we didn't really know how to fly it. It simply flew away and we never saw it again. We were devastated. Unfortunately, we were also in our 30s.

Of course yoU CAN argue that there's a generational difference at work here. Basic mechanics and woodwork were common currency at a time when Britain was much more of a manufacturing nation. I spent my formative years in South Yorkshire, where a lot of people's dads were employed in industry, and making stuff with your hands was just seen as a natural extension of the culture of the area. And yes, with the disappearance of those industries, the skills, too, have disappeared to some extent.

But it does sadden me when people feel they have to call in an expert to do something quite mundane like put their gate back on or rewire a socket – I think: "Oh, have a go!" If you break any kind of DIY task into the individual skills like painting, or putting screws in, or wiring sockets up, you're left with simple manual tasks. They're no more complicated than preparing the ingredients to cook with. It's only when you put them all together that they become intimidating.

Ninety per cent of building something is about thought process and confidence. DIY is not an art that has to be learnt through massive practice; it's largely about knowledge. And, of course, you do have to take a few precautions. People are right to be scared of electrics, because they're chuffing dangerous. I turn the whole house off if I've got to do anything electrical, and I'd turn the whole street off if I could. I once gave myself a bit of a shock putting a screwdriver near a light fitting that was still live – it threw me off the step ladder and on to the kitchen floor. Every time I went near anything electrical for the next six months I was reminded of the Big Bang.

But it's amazing what you can achieve when you just go for it. In James May's Man Lab we built our own pub – from the bar and the pumps to the flock wallpaper – and it's inspired me with an idea to create an ideal gentlemen's club. To me "gentlemen's club" always meant either a tacky strip joint or somewhere where real old farts go and sit around drinking port and talking bollocks about the days of the empire. Instead I'd love to start a club where you can turn up and have a pint, but also do something useful. Somewhere you can take your DIY project – that motorcycle you're trying to restore or piece of furniture you're trying to make – and there's tools for everybody to use. You do a bit of woodwork or metalwork and have a beer at the same time. I can see it working as a chain already.

James May's Man Lab in on BBC2 on 31 October at 9pm

Five things men don't do well any more. By Alex Horne



1 Greetings: Whether on the phone or in person, men no longer know what to do when they come into contact with other humans. A more regimented system is clearly needed to replace the improvised words and gestures that currently prevail. Although essentially futile, the singsong announcement of one's phone number should again become the universal way to answer a call, and a swift straightforward handshake followed by a "How do you do?" should be re-employed on the street. The proper response on both occasions, of course, is another "How do you do?" which can be repeated as often as is comfortable.

2 Clothes: There doesn't seem to be any sort of structure to men's fashion any more. Everyone would look and feel a lot better if they followed the same routine: weekdays – suit and shoes, both polished for exactly 20 minutes (tie can be loosened two notches in the evening). Saturdays – jacket, tie and dirty shoes. Sundays – Sunday best (ie, whichever clothes you think are your best). Most crucially, always wear a (sensible) hat, unless indoors or greeting someone outdoors (if greeting someone indoors, grab the nearest hat and hope for the best).

3 Children: Men have got into the habit of interacting with children. Not only do they talk and sometimes "play" with the ones that can also talk and "play", some men even cuddle, feed and generally care for their own babies. This can only lead to more interaction in later life and the replacement of the swift straightforward handshake with things like "hugs" and "physical affection". The solution is simple – put on your suit and go to work (or, at weekends, the golf course) before they wake. On returning home, shake the infant's hand, loosen your tie two notches and have several swift drinks.

4 Sneezing: Loud, proud and exhausting, that's the way. None of this apologetic, muted snivelling that seems to be the done thing nowadays. A man's sneeze should look and sound like an exploding animal and result in a similar scale of mess. A man should sneeze no less than three times in succession and his whole body should jerk forward 180 degrees on each occasion. A man should carry a handkerchief at all times, but this should be reached for only after the reverberations from the final sneeze have ebbed away. During the wiping, the sneezer should mutter, "Dear oh dear oh dear oh dear" and then sniff as loudly as he is able, hopefully inducing one last sneeze.

5 Romance: Modern man has forgotten how to court. He doesn't take his girl to dances because he doesn't know how to dance. He doesn't buy her roses or write her poems as his mates might found out. He's never even serenaded someone. Instead of wooing, he's on the pull, using lines found on the internet instead of charm. His embarrassment is embarrassing. He's flustered, lost and lonely. He ought to man up.

And five key skills that all men must master



1 Opening things: No man should put down an object before working out how to take it apart. If he can't prise off a lid or the back of a machine, he may as well go home and watch Sex and the City. There are a few simple rules: when opening beer bottles, one should use whatever item is nearest – ideally another beer bottle or one's teeth, but never an actual bottle opener. When opening jars one may only use one's bare hands. When opening letters one should always use a letter opener.

2 Basic mechanics: Obviously a man should be able to open the bonnet of his car. This is key. Once he's perfected this, he ought to know what to put in each of the holes, what not to touch and, roughly, what each of the bits do. If he knows what some of the bits are called and what he can use as an alternative fan belt, that's great. He should also be able to take the whole thing apart and put it back together to make an even better car in a single afternoon.

3 Water skiing: At the very least a man should be happy to be dragged along behind a boat for 30 seconds, whether on his feet, backside or head, so that his family can stand and applaud his efforts from the beach. Whatever his level of ability, he should always aim for the jumps. In a perfect male world, all men would arrive at work on waterskis, no matter the location of their office.

4 Bleeding radiators: This is just the tip of the iceberg. Not only must men own a radiator bleeding tool, know where it is and what it's actually called, he must also know when to bleed his radiators and how to do it. In addition, he should be able to rewire his house, sort out the plumbing and felt the roof.

5 Tracking rabbits, making spears, killing rabbits, skinning rabbits, making fire, keeping a fire going, cooking rabbits, eating rabbits, digging holes, building camps, warding off bears, blowing smoke signals, desalinating seawater, making clothes out of rabbits and traversing deserts: Yes, it is all very well being good at Microsoft Excel, but really, what use is that in the wild?

Man about the house: can DIY really fix a woman's heart? By Eva Wiseman



It must be tricky being a man, what with the expectations, unceasing facial hair and limited wardrobe options. Some things stay the same – one's daily shirt palette for instance; the way stubble continues to press on through the flesh as though on its way somewhere better. But others are continually shifting, like the seesawing levels of respect gained by women from either cooking a non-roasted meal or erecting a non-Ikea shelf.

B&Q found that a fifth of women consider themselves to be better at DIY than their male partners (66% of whom have unfinished jobs around the house, unfinished because they don't know how to complete them); they have now started offering DIY classes in store. Are we in the middle of another shift? For a while, cooking seemed to eclipse DIY as the ultimate "man skill", with boys all over Britain organising their chopped ingredients into a series of small bowls on a series of wipe-clean granite-look surfaces, eventually grunting together a faux-casual meal to a chorus of "Ooh!"s. Now, perhaps because we're finding it harder to afford experts to do our DIY, men are expected to up tools, tools that have lain flaccid and cold in cupboards for years.

While I can't really sanction the idea that men should do DIY (because it implies, of course, that there are other things that women should do – baking, dusting, not knowing how to work the Sky box), I'll lay this out now: a man building a cupboard is an attractive thing. A man building a cupboard really well is an extremely attractive thing. But then, a man doing anything really well is sexy. A man cleaning a bathroom to perfection – hot. A man assisting a difficult calf's birth – phwoar. A man blowdrying very long hair, a man fixing the heel on a broken boot, a man totally killing it at Fifa 11 – all completely arousing. But the opposite is equally appealing. If a man fails spectacularly – persisting in using a flat-head screwdriver when it's screaming for a Phillips, and bringing a whole shed crashing to the ground, for example – chances are there'll be a solid net of women just dying to help bathe his bruises.