Back in 1982 I was doing all I could to avoid what I considered an inappropriate task for female first year undergraduates: picking up litter. They said that the boys would be there too, but I didn’t believe it.

I’d missed so many classes over the course of the year that they probably wouldn’t notice if I didn’t turn up. Still, at first I would pretend to take part. I joined the other girls on the Birmingham University campus in the lobby of the Muirhead Tower where we waited for the lift. I loved the way that the lift recognised every single one of us. I wondered what kind of investment had gone into developing a system that displayed the name of each passenger alongside a note of his or her destination floor.

We completed the rest of the journey to the site of litter collection by rail. When the train pulled into the station, JC (was JP) and I sneaked around the back of the last carriage and then rushed into the shopping centre. There we confirmed what I suspected all along: they had been lying about the boys’ duties. Our school friends ST and DP were dashing about dressed in smart red and black uniforms. We concluded that they were working either as shop assistants or waiters. Whatever their role, they certainly would not be sent out to collect litter dressed like that.