When I was twelve years of age, I was constantly in trouble at school. I passed tests and exams with flying colours but I did precious little work or homework all year. My form desk was even removed from the classroom and placed beneath the staircase, much to everyone’s amusement. Still, nothing and nobody could make me care a jot about the work. That is until I was given a discredit for repeatedly not doing my French homework. This meant 10 credits would be removed from the house I belonged to, thus invoking the displeasure of my peers. My English literature teacher called me to her room and offered to give me one credit for every poem I could memorise and quote to her. That dear woman endowed me with a love of poetry I still have to this day. I can still remember each and every poem I committed to memory and barely a day goes by when I do not remember my teacher’s dedication and kindness.