Pants and vests… They always remind me of a peculiar time in my life when we were made to strip down to these nefarious undergarments, don plimsoles and run around the playground. They called it ‘P.E.’, which I understand stands for ‘Physical Education’. If running in circles is educating, then puppies must be far smarter than we give them credit for.

The time came on this particular morning to change into our underwear. Thankfully, we were all wearing our underwear already so it was more a case of simply removing any extraneous garments. Since back then I didn’t normally take my clothes off in public, except once a week on an occasion like this (which is not to say I’m in the habit now either) you kind of go into autopilot. You know how to unbutton your shirt, remove your trousers and, with a deft flick, kick your orange batman pants in to the air and catch them.

Problem: I was meant to keep my Y-fronts on my person to avoid the exhibition of my small wobbly bits (which have since, you’ll be glad to know, turned into significantly larger wobbly bits). Given this was in a classroom with around 28 other little people of mixed gender and one adult the range of emotions passed from the initial elation and "oh, yeah I’m so cool"-ness of catching my pants to the heart-stopping "no, wait, no one else is naked here" and finally hitting the rock-bottom: "balls" in the most literal sense.

I’m thinking about getting hypnotherapy to stop the gut-tensing flashbacks.