As a child I dreamt of attending an elite public school, like Eton,
but my parents sent me to Mulchester Marton,
which was much cheaper.

There, my beautiful drama teacher Delphine Duvall, encouraged me to become an actor.

I listened entranced as she reminisced about her birthplace in Carcassonne,
with its mediaeval streets echoing to the ghosts of armour-clad knights,
but instead of playing a noble in Midsummer Night’s Dream,
I was cast as that beloved fool Bottom, and looked a right chump
in hose and tights.

Joining me was Mick Mulcahy, whose father was as an Irish TD (Tánaiste) and rugby player, 
who, during his time as Taoiseach, was embroiled in a scandal involving iron-induced beetroot,
which he claimed would boost the Irish rugby team’s strength,
but all it did was make them belch.

Mick had inherited his dad’s cheek,
and boasted ‘My da’s a quare character, and that’s a fact.’

He would finish every sentence with that Irish expression, believing it added to his charm.

Keen to be his pal, for all the girls flocked to him,
I eagerly accepted an invite to his home, in Ireland’s Co. Kerry.

I entertained everyone at the ceili with that classic Irish song, 
Take Me Home Again Kathleen,
prompting Mick’s sister Orla to give me a seductive smile.

But when I called her ‘a sweet colleen’, she angrily declared,
‘I’m not some country girl, but a modern woman, studying
philosophy at Trinity College, Dublin.’

Severely sozzled, I determined to show her, but made a fool of myself
by drunkenly asking all the girls for a dance.

Alas, I woke to find Mick and his dad laughing over photographs of me in my underpants,
and was blackmailed into joining him in a plan to restore his father’s reputation.

He arranged for the county’s famous coastal attraction, friendly dolphin Funny Fingle Fergie,
to give Mick and I a ride, believing the publicity would boost tourism.

But a media storm, sparked by a protest by the Society To Protect Sea Mammals,
alerted our headmaster, Frederick Forth-Floodflace,
who promised to punish his naughty pupils.

Miss Duvall pleaded our case, but when she took the drama
class on a march against the war in Vietnam, her fate was sealed,
and all three of us left Mulchester Marton.

I suppose you’re wondering what happened to this motley crew?
Well, Mulcahy Senior wrote his autobiography, Forward Passes and Political Mauls,
signing copies beneath a poster of him, surrounded by naked teammates,
hiding their modesty with rugby balls.

Delphine lectured at a Los Angeles University, but annoyed Britain’s Prime Minister,
by condeming the English public school system.

He called in a few favours, and she was charged with anti-American activity.
Meanwhile, Mick had emigrated to California in pursuit of her,
and I followed like a little dog, sniffing after him in the LA fog.

But when he tried to involve me in his scheme to make a million
with his revolutionary breakfast food, Paddy’s Porridge,
I warned him it wouldn’t work, saying, ‘They won’t fall for your silly trick, you fool!’

I disappeared, hanging around Delphine’s university campus,
dressed as a Beatnik, trying to look cool.

Mick did manage to hoodwink a film company into buying his crazy cereal,
claiming it would produce actors with incredible personalities.

However, he got the ingredients mixed up – psychologists were puzzled by a
sudden outburst of severe shyness, and the movie moguls threatened to sue,
and engaged Theodore Fixitup, a top legal eagle.

Delphine finally realised that the Irish youth, like his dad, was not to be trusted,
so I hid her in my beach hideout, until we could leave under false passports.

I was by this time fluent in French and, posing as Delphine’s brother Antoine,
travelled to Carcassonne, where I starred in a historical re-enactment show,
Mighty Knights of Medieval France.

A talent scout saw me, and I was recruited to Paris’s Academie of Performance.

Delphine beamed with delight, for I’d fnally learned how to act.

Mick’s sister got quite jealous, saying ‘I don't believe it!’

But he assured her, ‘He’s a star, and that’s a fact!’