In his remarkably presumptuous and self-absorbed introduction to the tedious Confessions, Rousseau says "So let the numberless legion of my fellow men gather round me, and hear my confessions. Let them groan at my depravities, and blush at my misdeeds." Every autobiographer likes to think their misdeeds are blushworthy, and many, presumably, have a kind of masochistic pleasure in reliving their humiliations as well as their sins. My history is more cringeworthy than blushworthy, so in sharing some of my cheesy, tacky and hokey stories, I'm not in the same league of self-flagellation. I simply have an affection for the naïve young me who, with no sense of irony, did, created, and even was proud of, some very cheesy things.

For example, I consider my choice of title for the 1969 public speaking competition at Wisewood Comprehensive School to be truly cringeworthy - "My own Sound of Music". Even as I type the words, the hairs on my neck prick up in embarrassment, and my brain's irony centres delight in another example of blithely advertised sentimentality.

The talk was about my adventures as a recorder player and a pianist. I mentioned my stint in the Primary School ensemble, including playing "Oh Jesus, I have promised". My mother came to the competition and later commented on my pronunciation of "Cheesus" - something I'd never been aware of, and strange, for I've never called myself "Chon". The judges must have liked it though, because I won, going through to the Sheffield-wide school public speaking finals where I came in last place.