Being asked to write an opinion piece for the Observer presented me with a problem since I have recently given them up – I am fasting, so no more views, stances and convictions for me.

I started it after reading a book on critical thinking. Being English, I am always keen to criticise and thought I should sharpen up my technique of derision, sarcasm and occasional loftiness. This was a ghastly error as I discovered it was my actually my own opinions that needed criticising. It turns out that quite a few of them were founded on hearsay and conjecture. Thanks to the fast, I have nothing to say on Hilary Mantel and Kate Middleton; I can proffer nothing on any of last week's murders; I do not know Michael Gove's latest mistake; I accidentally formed an opinion on Chris Grayling, but that was a couple of weeks ago so that's not much use.

I had to stop going to parties last year as I had no opinion on Skyfall, though the act of not seeing it provoked some people to suggest that by neither seeing it nor having an opinion on it, I was clearly committing an act of intellectual pretension. Even the act of not having an opinion is now opinionated.

Once, I was so good at forming opinions that I could whore them for small cash rewards. I have remembered television, looked thoughtful when discussing the politics of language and said tetchy things about religious fundamentalists. This was usually for a fee, sometimes for a cab, a snack and the chance to mention that I'd be playing Corby and Cockermouth that weekend.

My loose lips gained a reputation. My inbox started to buckle with messages from local radio phone-in shows, news channels and even Richard & Judy. But then, just as "no" was to become the rarest word to pass my lips, I had the bristling realisation that I was talking about things I didn't give a jot about. My already limited mind was getting jammed up with judgments on swearing, naturists, the decline of circuses, pop acts with unseemly manners and contemporary art sculpted from dung.

Neil Postman, author of the magnificently titled Amusing Ourselves to Death, wrote that we should cut down our opinions by one-third. As this was in the early days of 24-hour news and before the internet, I now imagine three-quarters would be nearer the mark. Opinions have overtaken information and facts as a necessity. Everyone is not only entitled to their opinion, it is considered the height of rudeness to suggest that their opinion is balderdash; the height of rudeness, but great TV too.

With so much airtime to fill, a few orange chairs and some venomous dogmatists can fill an hour. Then you can follow up the show you've just shown with another show where people give their opinions on the opinions they have just witnessed and then another show about how hearing those opinions on opinions has affected people who fear opinions. Everyone must be encouraged to form as many opinions as possible, phone them in, tweet them, place them under features on the internet, join forums. If you do not feel outraged or wronged, are you alive?

Opinions take over from actions.

"What did you do in the war, Daddy?"

"Well, I had many opinions, my girl, and I showed no fear in typing them."

We can be so busy in an onanistic orgy of our own opinions that we scarcely find time to look away from our reflection in the bile to read anything or anyone else.

Everyone knows they are correct now. However crazed your idea might be, somewhere within the internet lies someone in a similar cellar who agrees with you. We are all entirely right. We are all entirely wrong. Points of views unhindered by any evidence save the scraps that suit you.

Aristotle did not believe in experimentation and testing his theories; he believed his thought process was enough to justify that women had fewer teeth and the lame had excess energy trapped in their genitals. Now 140 characters on the internet become fact merely because they are typed. To ask for evidence is a ruthless slur. I saw a TV academic branded a "vile racist". When the accuser was politely asked why they considered this person a vile racist, the answer was "because they are". Others joined in to suggest that asking for evidence of why someone was a racist was racist in itself.

Those who might be knowledgeable are looked upon with suspicion, described as "know-alls", "so-called experts" and "the intellectual elite". They spoil our opinions. The last people you should trust when seeking answers are those shifty characters who have immersed themselves in the subject at hand. The learned have sullied their mind with information. The Aristotelians of the internet, the cocksure and the commonsensical, know what is right for no other reason than they do.

"If my car breaks down, I never use one of those so-called mechanics. Can't trust them, they've been brainwashed by the manufacturers and 'the man'. I always take my Fiat to a homeopath when it overheats; they cost a bit more, but they use special water that has the memory of cooling."

Of course, there are plenty of "so-called experts" and there are "experts". If your specialist subject is the secret of romance, the arrangement of furniture to energise a lounge or an economist, it is quite likely you are a "so-called expert". If you are a particle physicist or professional potter, you may be an "expert". However new age you may be, if your mug handles keep dropping off, it's hard to justify your works of clay as effective when another screaming man surveys their soup-scalded lap.

I want to see more experts. I want more facts. I want to see more people who cannot just tell me what opinion they have, but can convincingly answer why they hold it too. It is not intellectual fascism to consider people who know things to be more knowledgeable than those who don't. We all have the right to our opinion, but we don't have the right to stop people laughing at it. What Question Time lacks is some good laughing in the face of the more po-faced and statistically imaginative panellists. One of the reasons I gave up saying yes to most things was the fact that had been in front of my nose for so long – I just don't know enough about most things. And this means I am no good to TV or radio or the foundations of a pub brawl as I am just not certain enough to create a spectacle. I am no longer right enough about anything, I am only trying to be less wrong.

I will be playing Corby next weekend.