The trouble with having parents is that they keep things, wait until you've forgotten about them, and then present them to you sixteen years later in return for looking after your cat. Which explains why I'm now in possession of this newspaper clipping from page 9 of the Basildon Evening Echo (one of Fleet Street's finest), dated Friday, March 16th, 1990. The irony is that I can remember being very pleased with that photo. I'm slightly less pleased with it now.

But anyhoo, the concise, informative, and wholly inaccurate accompanying article poses a number of questions...


The first three I didn't know the answers to then, and I still don't now. But the main one is why Mr Gregory, a tracksuited P.E. teacher who I'd never even spoken to, let alone been taught by, was claiming to be an English master in the local press. And having made it to the dizzy heights of official quiz show spokesman, he then completely failed in his job by stating that we'd been nominated by the school, when in reality they'd asked the whole sixth form, and only found half a dozen people stupid enough to volunteer. Which explains why I made the shortlist, despite being someone who'd always hated geography, didn't do it at GCSE, and barely knew the capital of France. Which in turn explains why we lost.

But still, you know you went to a good school when they start boasting to the papers that Anglia TV have "laid on a bus" to take you to Norwich.