Running around, imagining that you know what an erection is, and hoping to touch a girl's gusset peach. Had you managed it, you would have been sick.

Kiss chase could also be extremely dangerous. I, for one, broke my arm chasing a weedy little boy. Damn, I wanted that kiss.

When I was invited to join the Kissing Girls - the exclusive club for the most popular girls in the school - I was naturally very excited. The sole purpose of the club was to chase boys around and kiss anyone they caught, amidst vague protestations of "ick". One day, I chased down a boy, rugby-tackled him to the ground, and then, when he refused to hold still, I jabbed him in the face with a sharp stick. I wasn't able to kiss him, because he was too busy crying and holding his bleeding face in his hands while everyone else looked on, aghast.

I suspect that it was my failure to deliver the kiss that was the reason the Kissing Girls never let me play with them again.

I always felt I was the king of Kiss Chase, as none of the girls could get near me. I ran like the wind and dodged tackles like a French rugby fly-half. And so I would often find myself in a corner of the playing field all on my own with nary a girl in sight. No girly germs for me thank you very much.

It was only ten years later that I realised all the other boys walked or stood still or 'tripped over' and got to spend the entire break snogging whilst I ran round on my own singing 'I am the Champion' like a fool.