RIGHT from the start I realised that women could not resist me — they were unable to stop hugging and kissing me.

Unfortunately, that stopped when I was 18-months-old.

Indeed, from then until I was around four I thought my name was shut up.

Being as pure as the driven snow people describe me as a beacon of reassuring light in an endless swamp of mediocrity and gloom (who writes this rubbish?). A choir boy — of course — confirmation classes required me to attend Quarley vicarage where Cyril Brunditt, our dour but dedicated vicar, took lessons.

But, one lesson clashed with the social event of the year — the youth club outing to see Cliff Richard and the Shadows at the Gaumont Southampton. As soon as he appeared on stage all the girls screamed, cried, waved their hands in the air and made a big fuss. Scenes not repeated until I was in the Royal Berks labour ward with my wife some years later.

Back at the vicarage for our next lesson we had already touched on ‘Intelligent Input vs Darwin’ and his theory of natural selection. And naturally I was selected to explain our absence — why me?

The killer prosecution question from Rev Brunditt was, “Is Cliff Richard more important than God?”

Pleading for the defence was pathetic and I was banished and told to return the next year when perhaps I could take things more seriously.

Why me? None of the other children were reproached.

Being quiet and shy has always been my problem.

I never was confirmed and so I remain a heathen. I blame Cliff Richard.

Brian Forrest, Over Wallop