REUNIONS are all the rage at the moment. I can see the point when you haven't seen a friend or a family member for a long time. That must be great.

But school reunions? Somebody must be having a laugh.

I know someone once said they were the greatest days of your life but that was when people used to die at the age of 14.

Now schooling can be a minimum of 12 years. It's just like inoculations, you have to go through with them as a kid, but you wouldn't want to repeat the experience.

Meeting people you haven't seen in 30 or 40 years that you disliked back then and having nothing in common with may sound like heaven to some, but I can find more entertaining ways of spending an evening - like re-arranging my CD collection in alphabetical order: artist first, album title second.

Let's face it, the only people who will turn up will be those who have made a success of their lives.

You attend to gloat, not to prove that teacher was right when he wrote in your report: "If this effort, who approximates as a human being, amounts to anything more than the average amoeba, then I will gladly spend the rest of my days being fed cold custard through a pipette while watching daytime TV."

The nerd that used to spend most of his breaktime searching for goldfish in the toilets will have a Porsche as his "second car".

He will say to you: "I told you computers was the future. But no, you thought your collection of American Civil War chewing gum cards was the way forward."

Let's be honest, it could have gone either way.

Then there's the stalker - he's the weird kid who was so strange even the bullies wouldn't beat him up.

He still eats Biros and dresses like he's come from an accident.

He'll follow you round the reunion, acting like your long-lost buddy, saying things like: "Do you remember when we put blue dye in the school water tank and everybody was drinking blue water for three days?"

Which is great, because no-one knew it was you who did it.

Now of course, teacher knows. And teacher will be there. He's never left. He might be 105, and you might be 50, but he still treats you like you were seven.

"So, Nicholls, tell me more about the blue dye. I knew it was you, I just couldn't prove it. Write me 200 lines immediately."

You can't say: "I'm an adult now. You have no power over me, Mr Jenkins, Sir, Lord of the Dark Side."

Because strangely, once you enter the time portal that is school you instantly become seven again.

"Yes sir," you say, "No problem, sir. And I'll get the algebra homework done that I promised to hand in 40 years ago."

"OK, Nicholls, now run along, although there is of course, the rule that you should not run in the school corridors, which reminds me ...."

No, schooldays should remain in the past, like bubonic plague and the Sinclair C5.

First published: October 28