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      I apologise to any of my unwitting fantasy co-stars, but anything was better than the night I found myself ‘getting off’ over thoughts of the seminary’s dinner lady. She must’ve been in her sixties at least. No offence to her, she was a sweet old gal, but it was the adolescent masturbatory equivalent of drinking your own urine when cast adrift at sea with no fresh water. And it was an agonisingly slow walk of shame taking my plate back to the kitchen hatch the following day.

      If I wasn’t lying awake at night feeling homesick, I was busy exorcising my unholy urges. And I was genuinely worried that this might impede my chances of making a half-decent priest one day. Was there a technique for keeping your hands north of the elastic pyjama border, which they would share with us at a later date? This was a basic instinct that was growing in its intensity whilst they just seemed to expect us to ignore it.

      I tried going cold turkey, but then wet dreams kicked in – and my subconscious had a far filthier imagination than me. Up to that point, my indiscretions had been low-budget Dogmeinspired short movies. My wet dreams were multi-million-dollar summer blockbusters with an A-list line-up and a supporting cast of hundreds. I was damned if I did, and damned when I didn’t.

      That’s why I was so excited when Father Cornforth, who had been a parish priest local to Simon’s home town, but who was now teaching at the seminary, offered to take him and a friend away for a night at an orienteering hostel. A school from his old parish were there on a trip, and he was going to go and say mass for them as there was an upcoming Holy Day of Obligation. Simon nominated me to go along with him, and not only would we get away from Upholland for two days, but girls would be there too!

      You can’t know what a mind-blowing proposition that was for two wanton overnight escapees from God’s borstal. I packed my coolest jumpers and my tiepin with the over-tie chain. We were so excited driving down there. Tony – Father Cornforth was cool enough to let us drop the ‘Father’ title during the journey – was great fun. He didn’t stand on ceremony and talked to us like we were young men, not Underlows.

      There was nothing pious about the guy and he didn’t have that underlying bitterness that a lot of the other priests seemed to have. I always imagined Tony was one of those at constant loggerheads with Church bureaucracy; he was a different breed who seemed to understand the need to connect with students rather than throw the rule-book at them. He was also proof that you could serve God and still have a sense of humour. Plus he taught judo, so he was also kick-ass. The man could do no wrong in my eyes. I can honestly say that I might be sitting here writing Sunday’s sermon right now had Upholland had more priests like him.

      We got to the hostel in time for the evening meal. The other boys there must have thought us soft arses, but Simon and I were in seventh heaven sitting in amongst a gang of girls talking away to them. God, it was great! We were a bit of a novelty item and got bombarded with questions about life at the seminary. I felt so normal, despite our minor celebrity status, and that was the lovely thing about it. The other lads didn’t seem to have a clue what they were missing out on, so there was zero opposition. Then the question of girlfriends came up. There was one girl in particular who seemed astonished at the idea of no relationships with the fairer sex.

      ‘Not even kissing? But you’re not actually priests yet!’

      ‘I know, it’s rubbish, innit?’

      ‘Not at all?’

      ‘Not even on your birthday, or really sunny days!’

      Her name was Lynne. She had this gorgeous, tight bubbleperm and a real cheeky smile to her. And she was the easiest lass to talk to. Attitude-wise, she was classic tomboy, but nonetheless beautiful for it.

      It might sound corny, but chatting away to her I felt like I’d known her for years. She was so matter-of-fact and there was no awkwardness with her. I loved the way she seemed to understand my frustration with life back at the seminary. It was a killer when we had to break it up and go to our respective rooms. I didn’t want that evening to end.

      The room with the boys’ bunks in it proved itself an odd revelation: while it was a real novelty for them to be spending a few nights away from home, for Simon and myself it was the unfortunate norm. They thought it great fun, chatting away till their teacher would stick his head around the door and rollock them.

      ‘Now this is your last warning. Settle down and get some sleep! Try taking a leaf out of these boys’ books.’

      He was referring to me and Simon, of course. We were roughly the same age as the other boys, and they were a decent enough mob, but there was a massive intellectual gap between us and them. I felt like I was umpteen years their senior – not in any condescending way, but I just couldn’t get rid of a nagging suspicion that they knew nothing about the bigger world beyond their front door. All the things they were slagging off, everything they thought was lame or unfair, I yearned for on a daily basis. It was the first time that I realised my childhood was slipping away from me at an alarming rate. I lay there feeling cheated of something. I wanted to not give a shit, just like the other lads in that room, but I couldn’t.

      I was 11 going on 40. I had lost the innocence that they all so rightly took for granted. I could’ve cried, but how embarrassing would that have been? Instead, I turned my thoughts to the beautiful tomboy and fell asleep smiling at a daft dream that I was heading back home to their school with her the next day. And there was no stiffy. Suddenly, I was all about the romance.

      We went down for breakfast the following morning and the girls had reserved us spots on the benches next to them. This place was a dry dream come true! We ate and talked and already I was dreading leaving later that day.

      My bubble-permed beauty and her friend asked if Simon and I wouldn’t mind nicking off for a wee while, as they wanted to show us something outside. They made it sound very matter of fact and harmless.

      ‘Yeah, ’course.’

      Would I mind? I’d have shown my arse to the archbishop if that gorgeous gal had asked me to.

      We excused ourselves from the table with a demeanour as studiedly casual as Jeffrey Archer hooked up to a lie detector. Not that we actually thought we were going to get up to anything, but because just the four of us left, it felt almost like a mini double-date.

      We left by a side door and then Lynne actually took my hand and led me around to the back of the big stone building. There was a rickety doorway leading into a small lean-to where muddy shoes and wet coats were kept. I turned around to say something to Simon but the other lass had led him around the far side of the structure. My heart was thumping nineteen to the dozen.

      ‘Listen, Michael. We’ve been talking, yeah? And we’ve decided that it’s not fair that you don’t get to kiss anybody.’

      I could barely speak but just about managed to croak, ‘Um, yeah, like I said, it’s, erm, it’s a bit rubbish.’

      ‘Well then, now’s your chance.’

      And with that, Lynne put her hands either side of my face and kissed me. I mean she properly kissed me. Full lips and open mouthed.

      The Vatican didn’t stand a chance from that moment on.

      My head swam with all these new incredible sensations. I raised my hands and let my fingers hang in the soft, tight curls of her perm. Our noses rubbed gently together as we switched sides mid-kiss. I’d never, in my entire life up to that moment, experienced anything as wonderful as those lips.

      For all my dummy-runs late at night back at the seminary, I was not prepared for this. And I’d have never dared go in for a kiss myself. But, thankfully, Lynne had initiated it, and she definitely knew what was she was doing. She made reciprocating that beautiful gesture just as easy as talking to her.

      That first kiss seemed to go on for ever. I can remember to this day the waves of pleasure as she stroked her thumbs across my cheeks. I was trembling slightly from the adrenaline rush and thought my legs might give out at any point from swooning.

      It was the greatest payback for what had, in fairness,

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