It was a time of early September coolness like we’re experiencing at the moment.
46 years ago I faced the most dramatic transition of my life.
On a Monday evening of torrential rain, my father drove me from a three-bedroom house on an estate in a small village in Wiltshire to School House at Magdalen College School on Cowley Place by the Plain.
I was directed to a spartan dormitory with rows of cast iron beds with red bedspreads and starched white sheets. At the very end was one with my name on it. My life went from tranquilty to chaos with a matter of hours. After lights out, my new school chums welcomed me with insults and whacked me with pillows.