A timetabling mix-up meant that it was now up to me to entertain the final year students for two hours. I rummaged in the box of handouts that I had taken to the last class in the desperate hope that I’d discover an unused exercise. There was no suitable material: how on earth would I entertain them for the rest of the morning?

How fortunate then that one of the older students appeared at my door with an escape plan. He announced that he was taking me on a trip, and soon we were speeding through the damp autumn lanes in his open-top sports cars. Dodging the waist-height cables of the West Sussex Electricity Company strewn across the road at random intervals added to the fun of the ride.

At our final destination of Looe, Cornwall I asked my companion his age. When he said that he was 23 and leant down to kiss me I knew that he was lying. However, I didn’t have long to consider this because just then I felt a sharp poke of pain in my ribs delivered from behind. GG, TPR’s first year hall of residence room-mate, had witnessed everything. “Do you have to snog all your students?” he enquired.