When I started investigating cheating in Argentina, I never would have imagined that Hollywood star Viggo Mortensen would play a key role. Of course, all that was before I announced live on TV that I was a 25-year-old virgin.
I'd been in Buenos Aires, making a short video (below) for a new show called Outpost on Fusion an ABC/Univision channel in the States. We were suggesting that infidelity is rife in this part of the world.
It all started to spiral out of control after a radio interview with Andy Kusnetzoff, who, as I explain in the video, is like an Argentine Howard Stern. Listeners call in to profess their love or lust for unsuspecting friends, acquaintances and even family members. My team and I decided it would be a good idea for me to go on air to discuss cheating - and include the footage in our video.
By chance, Viggo Mortensen - who lived in Argentina for a decade as a kid - was doing an interview before us. When quizzed about his thoughts on our topic, he disagreed that they cheat more than anyone else. He staunchly defended the honour of Argentines - who would hopefully go see his latest flick - and tore us to shreds. Our Dutch director Bas Voorwinde was in the studio filming at that point and bore the brunt of Viggo's derision.
Before we knew it, our studio was inundated with calls from TV execs. Argentines are interested in what the outside world thinks of them - so to have a Hollywood star defend them against us evil filmmakers was big news.
That night, I went to speak on Duro de Domar, the country's most popular talk show. It was my first ever TV appearance - but I wasn't nervous until I sat down in front of the cameras. This was when I managed to covertly get hold of the interviewer's questions, where I saw: "Put the Brit on the spot about the Falklands." Up to that point, I hadn't considered that the other guests might be hostile - I'd forgotten that my video showed an Englishman telling the world that Argentines are cheaters. Not the wisest move.
Panic set in. I wasn't really prepared for a debate about Thatcher and war. The intense, hot lights turned on and almost totally obscured the audience behind them. Then director Bas put his hand on my shoulder and said: "Don't worry, it's just millions of people watching you struggle through a heated debate in Spanish!"
During our 30-minute chat, I struggled to keep up with the slang Spanish of my interrogators. My attempts at British humour failed miserably. The lights in my eyes seemed to get more and more intense as the show went on. Sweat dripped off my brow, and every time I looked nervous, the show's producer played that intimidating sound from Jaws - I had been thrown to the sharks.
At one point, someone asked me if I liked sex. Looking to avoid going into my personal life, I joked - in front of millions of viewers - that I'd never tried it. And that is how I became the Ultimate English Virgin. Twitter was momentarily alight with messages from macho men questioning my sexuality - and even a few semi-sincere offers from desperate women. For a while, people on the street greeted me as though I were a reincarnation of Steve Carrel's virgin character.
Days later, another show had me on to talk about the video - or so I thought. They waited until the dying seconds of the programme to ask: "Andrew - are you a virgin?" I opened my mouth to respond, but my microphone had already been turned off.
Then the announcer boomed: "Find out if Andrew is a virgin next week!"