I blame Oscar Wilde; reading him at a formative age, his line ‘There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is being talked about’ stuck in my head.So a part of me really thought I was doing my classmates a favour when, as a precocious pubescent, I spread stories about them to others with the invariable overture ‘promise you won’t tell, but…’For one lovely springtime, I was the muck-spreading equivalent of those plate-spinners you saw in variety shows. Then I caught laryngitis (probably from all that poison I was peddling) and was off school for a month.
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