I was just watching the fly-on-the-wall programme on Harrow school. Again, for I'm sure I saw exactly the same programme 15 or so years ago. And thirty. And pretty much nothing has changed. Comforting or confounding, you decide.

There was a new teacher depicted, who happened to be an old Harrovian. In the shots we saw he was struggling to inspire his class. Maybe because he was an old Harrovian. Could it be that the kids were thinking, given his start in life, isn't he a bit of a loser?


In 1985 I was a trainee teacher at Aylwyn School in Bermondsey, at that time considered the worst girls' school in London. The English Department was full of some of the most inspiring women I have ever met. And one completely useless man. The youngest of the teachers had attended the school, indeed, her sister was still a pupil. She, alone, had the total respect of every single girl there. Could it be that the kids were thinking, given her start in life, isn't she a bit of a success?

Anne's been off to Scotland on a family mercy mission. Leaving me hard at work, on a business proposal, an edit of my novel, some poems and my book on gambling. Or, more accurately, left me with her i-pad and Candy Crush .

Which is a mistake. For I am a recovering addict when it comes to video games. I was a pioneer, at the forefront. I spent my student grant on Asteroids. I once lost a long weekend playing Premiership Manager. Anne left me on Friday to see her parents and returned Sunday evening to see me slumped sleepless against the PC, pizza boxes and empty bottles piled all around me. Although to be fair, I had just taken Woking from the Conference League to the Champions League final, where a young footballing genius called Twinkletoes Twynam had just scored a hat-trick. Possibly one of the greatest moments of my life.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Sim City was my game of choice through the gambling years, bar a short-lived but exquisite affair with Age of Empires. Both of them secret - fallen off the wagon – hidden scarfing when Anne wasn't around.
But then I stopped, weaned myself off such things, could almost kid myself I was clean and grown-up. At least a decade of cutting edge graphics and imagination has passed me by. Grand Theft Auto What. 

Candy Crush seemed a silly little thing. I've flirted with these before. Nothing to take seriously. Angry Birds and Fruit Ninja are simple mobile phone dalliances. Tetris with wings, nothing to worry about. Methadone. 

But Candy Crush took me by surprise. I got to level 50 before working out to how to make wrapped candy. For fuck's sake. This is either genius for getting so far accidentally or, more probably, why tests tell me I have the ability of a 9 year old when it comes to visual spatials. Still, I was sucked in. 


I haven't slept much. I ran out of lives at 2 a.m. and lay in bed, in between sleep and waking, seeing candy patterns in my head. Level 56 seems impossible. At 69p for 5 lives the streets beckon. Or to call on Harry Hill's insight, “heroin, it's very more-ish apparently...”