Panto season as Man City lurk behind us

IN my youth, school days would pass with the agonising crawl of a John Terry train of thought.

You had to make your own fun, since displaying any desire to learn was irrefutable proof of homosexuality and the precursor to a hefty beating.

We lesser delinquents were eternally grateful to the biggest class clowns, who occupied the majority of the teacher’s attention. It meant we could get away with other stuff while his back was turned.