I still wake up, occasionally, wondering where I put my Y-fronts.

Other times, the sheets are wet and I'm in a cold sweat, as I roll out of bed frantically hunting for a pen that works before realizing, with great relief, that I am awake, that it is not 1983, and that I really don't need one.

The good news is I don't get the bad dreams very often these days. After all, there has been an ocean of water under the bridge since I took my A-levels. But once or twice a year, they still haunt me.