Fifty years ago I was Keegan III and a beginner at St Peter's School, near Exmouth in Devon - and I was very, very happy.
This ancient end-of-term report gives a clue as to my contentment.
The teachers were kind and sympathetic to a degree that occasionally makes me wonder: Bless you - but what were you thinking?'
For instance: riding. Our teacher for this extra-curricular activity was the glorious Helen Rhys-Jones, the Head's 21-year-old daughter - Miss Helen to us.
Her comment on my equestrianism reads: 'obviously at ease with ponies. Good position and sympathetic hands.'
How kind - but clearly she was unaware that I spent the two hours before every lesson in the lavatory - that's how at ease I was!
For 'games', I read: 'A sincere little boy who has proved himself a real sport and done jolly well in cricket'.
Again, how generous to mask my total non-ability under the charitable euphmemism of sincerity.
Grumpy music teacher Mrs Powell's 'makes no effort' was a pretty accurate judgement, I am ashamed to say. But, golly gosh, she wasn't the most inspiring of teachers.
Wonderful Miss Rushton says 'good' for Scripture - and awards me 37%. What might the comments have been for pupils who achieved above 70%?
Divine? Numinous? Transcendent?