In September 1968, 56-years ago, I started big school.

I wore long trousers for the first time – I worried about chafing until well into the 3^rd year; got given homework which was slightly more complex than drawing a cat and then colouring it in; I established the cane wasn’t something sugar grew on.

In the first year I played a sport with an odd-shaped ball in mud which wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Somme.  I would stand, looking out, with horribly blurred vision, as I had bad eyesight, wondering if I’d ever been clean again?

I attended lessons I’d never done before.   I went into a science lab.  Surely, with 90 boys from Balham and Tooting, and with all those Bunsen Burners just waiting to ignite, one of us was a potential pyromaniac?  Since 1968 I don’t think I’ve ever used trigonometry – mainly as I have little interest in trigs.

I survived by being good at cricket, singing and by making the slightly rougher boys in my class laugh.   

Although, staying in your class until 4.10 was tough- it felt like it was nearly tomorrow!

And where had all the girls gone?