by Alan Townendhow they must remember how fussy he always was about
appearance and being properly dressed. He had, he said, got a
special prize for the best dressed old boy. I heard my name being
called out. All I wanted to do was get out but I had no choice and
strolled as casually as I could to loud cheers and cat calls, in my
holiday outfit, up on to the stage. As he handed me a small book
entitled 'How to look smart' and shook my hand, he whispered: "I've
waited fifteen years for this!" Get out of this!, I said to myself.