The trip ranks among the most extraordinary, moving experiences of my life so far. I received hospitality from people who had virtually nothing to give; one family in the wake of hurricane damage had nothing to eat and no clean water. I met an extraordinary midwife who had delivered 100 children and only recently learned how to sterilise and utilise scissors. She pleaded with me to help train midwives like her so they could save lives.

Her midwife kit had been washed away in the recent storms and I thought . . . a pair of scissors.

One pair of effing scissors . . . then I came back to Santa lists and requests to bring back cashmere sweaters from French Connection in Luton Duty Free. It was unbearable really.

What coming face to face with poverty, hardship and injustice did for me personally was turn me from a shallow, selfish greedy bitch who thought I was a generous charity giver, to a selfish, greedy bitch who knows that she doesn't give nearly enough to the needy. My scant consolation is that I now understand that the only people in the western world who are not selfish, greedy bitches are people like Christina Noble who devote their entire lives to helping the poor.

Giving is necessary because it makes me feel better about myself. It makes me feel like I'm a good person. But when I recall the midwives, the small farmers, the struggling families with hordes of poverty-stricken children in Guatemala I realise how little I am prepared to do. I imagine that I would like to go over there and devote a couple of years actively to help . . . but of course with a young family, and my settled life here, it's impossible.

Actually I'm fooling myself, because I have imagined all sorts of impossible things . . . becoming a novelist, moving to the country, finding a week to travel to the Sahara on my own . . . and managed to make them happen. It's all about commitment. If I relinquished two of my bedrooms and made do with one car the money I would save could make a huge difference to hundreds of lives. It's a reality.

What I can do however is continue to face up and keep the memory of what I experienced alive so that I can pass it on. So that when somebody says to me, "I don't want a goat . . . I want a handbag" I can be as politically correct and self-righteous as I am when somebody says the word 'nigger'.

There are people who are prepared to give their lives to helping others and the very, very least I can do is buy people goats for Christmas, and encourage them to do the same for me. On the plus side I was astonished by the response I got for my Trocaire gifts last year. My father-in-law was gratifyingly thrilled when I presented him with a 'pig'.