I don’t know why exactly, but until the age of six I was a stranger to corporal punishment. I think I may have had the odd smack off Mum or Dad but nothing spectacular or memorable, and certainly nothing very formal. In some ways this was surprising, since this was the 70s and nearly every other kid I knew got their bottom smacked occasionally, though few ever talked about it.
However, my run of luck ended, as I say at the age of six. I had found a book of pictures (as I thought) and thought it would be a great laugh to draw on specs, moustaches and big ears on to some of them. Unfortunately, in my innocence I had chosen a very expensive art book of my father’s, and he wasn’t at all pleased. “Go up to your room right now, young man,” he told me, “I will be up to deal with you in a minute.”