While flogging his 2011 film The Descendants, in which he played a father of two, George Clooney remarked: ‘The nice thing about playing a father on screen is that you get to give the children back at the end of the day.’

From someone whose life was so choreographed - the humanitarian posturing, the revolving door of frilly-knickered consorts - it was a refreshingly candid remark. Here was the world’s most eligible bachelor (Amal was yet to elbow her way on to the scene) letting slip that the whole parenting lark really wasn’t for him.

But as that quip shattered the dreams of women worldwide, I found a kindred spirit.

It was a relief to know there might be other men out there who view the concept of fatherhood akin to a prison sentence.

Henry Deedes, pictured right, has no intention of becoming a father and doesn't even like babies or teenagers

Before provoking howls of disgust, I should point out that I like children. Babies - not so much. All those fat, pudgy dumplings that smell and whine and dribble, while flapping their limbs like demented seal pups, I can happily live without.

And most teenagers belong in a secluded hospital wing, heavily sedated until ready to be introduced into adult society.

Children, however, with their gap-toothed insouciance and endearing disregard for logic or reason, I find a delight. I have a godson whose birthdays I never miss, and am also close to his siblings, whom I am thrilled to look after when they’re in town.

But as much as I enjoy it, in the words of Gorgeous George, I get to give them back.

And so as I approach 38, an age when even some of my male friends are bleating about their biological clocks (uggh!), I am ruling out the prospect of fatherhood for good. I probably shut that door a couple of years ago when my marriage ended. Despite 12 years together, my ex and I never even came to close to having children.

Like most people, I think I assumed when we were engaged that we would start a family one day. But as time went on, the more impractical the idea seemed to both of us. The prospect of giving up our freedom just became less and less attractive.

What was holding me back? First, I’ve never felt that caveman-like surge to multiply. I know people who take great masculine pride at passing on their genes, like they are bestowing some great gift to mankind. Such feelings strike me as quite odd and egotistical.

The idea of wanting to pass on genes strikes Henry as egotistical and vain, and he won't be doing it

He worries that the privileges he enjoyed as a child, such as having a large house and having foreign holidays, have now become so expensive that if he did have kids they wouldn't be able to do what he did as a child

And my reluctance is not related to a bad childhood. If anything, it’s the cosiness of my Home Counties upbringing that adds to my anxieties about fatherhood. Most of the privileges I enjoyed are beyond the reach of today’s parents.

Exorbitant property prices mean raising a family in anything outside a shoebox around London has become the preserve of the super-wealthy.

Green taxes have made holidays abroad increasingly expensive. And such are the staggering sums my friends fork out on childcare, I could probably employ a valet for less.

As for private education, forget it. When a friend telephoned our alma mater to enrol his newborn (cost: a non-refundable £1,000), he was politely warned by the bursar that by the time the child arrived for his first term, they expected fees to have reached £100,000 a year. Click, brrrrr.

Henry found a kindred spirit in George Clooney, who said that the nice thing about filming with children was that you got to hand them back at the end of the day

Do any of these things matter? They shouldn’t, but they do. And I get irritated when told otherwise. On holiday once, a friend remarked: ‘I don’t mind if my husband and I end up penniless, as long as the children thrive.’ A nice sentiment, but palpable nonsense.

I always visit friends who have welcomed a new family member, but can’t say I ever feel jealous. If anything, I’m relieved to head off afterwards for an appointment with the sofa or an evening out.

This, it seems, is at odds with my generation, who see fatherhood as a badge of honour. A Virgin Money Life Insurance survey found 93 per cent of men believe being a father is the most important role in a man’s life.

I am depriving my parents of the chance to be grandparents. I have a brother who is unmarried, and since my father has no living brother, my family will be officially kaput unless my brother and I do something about it

And Lordy, don’t they all show it? Social media feeds are clogged by pictures of smug fathers showing off. West London nursery school cloakrooms have come to resemble golf club car parks, because all the dads have bought flashy pushchairs made by Ferrari and BMW that cost more than a second-hand Prius.

As for sportsmen, barely a goal is scored or putt sunk without a player flashing an I-am-a-berk tattoo of his latest lovechild’s name for the cameras. Childless men like me might be tempted to think fathers inhabit a permanent state of ecstasy.

But a trip to the country before Christmas convinced me otherwise. I rumbled a fellow guest covertly smoking behind a tree as I prepared to leave. ‘What are you doing out here in the rain?’ I asked. ‘Getting away from my bloody kids,’ he replied.

Less funny was a lunch after my ex and I separated, which a friend arranged - seemingly to check on my welfare. As lunch progressed it became clear the purpose was in fact to unburden himself of his own predicament at being married with two children. Staring vacantly into the remnants of an Armagnac, he groaned: ‘Sometimes I really wish I could just start again.’ Bit of a conversation killer, that one.

It isn’t just me my decision affects. I am depriving my parents of the chance to be grandparents. I have a brother who is unmarried, and since my father has no living brother, my family will be officially kaput unless my brother and I do something about it. But it’s not a duty I have ever felt bound to fulfil.

George Clooney, pictured in the film The Descendants with his fictional children, has been candid about his lack of enthusiam about having kids

This is easy for me to say, I hear women reply. After all, men have all the time in the world for children. Just look at Ronnie Wood, about to become a father again at 68.

Well, it’s not that straightforward. I am approaching my fifth decade, and being the oldest father at sports day holds little appeal.

Research has also shown that like women, older fathers can have a significant effect on babies’ health.

Children conceived by fathers over 40 have a 30 per cent increased risk of epilepsy, a 37 per cent higher risk of Down’s syndrome and a 70 per cent greater likelihood of central nervous system cancers. Older fathers are also at higher risk of having children with autism or schizophrenia.

I am aware that I will miss out on a great deal, but I am gaining plenty in return. Whereas I can indulge myself in everything life in London has to offer, I am always aghast at just how little time people with young families have for themselves.

I suppose having children is a bit like starting your own business. If we knew just how tough it was going to be, no one would ever try.

Am I taking the easy option in life? Maybe. But it’s also an honest one.

Doubtless much of what I have said will horrify potential girlfriends, though so far most women I’ve dated just seem relieved I haven’t got kids already so they haven’t walked into a messy family break-up.

None of this is meant to sound glib or flippant. I know there are many who don’t have the luxury of choice.