he guy comes into the room, crashing the door back so hard it hits the wall. He stalks towards you, his red eyes gleaming. You make the sign of the cross but that doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even slow him down. You back away as he advances fast on you. When you hit the wall you realise you’ll have to do something drastic. So you shout out:

‘Stop! I’ve got German measles!’

To your astonishment the guy hesitates. You quickly point out a few scattered pimples and freckles on your face.

‘See!’ you say, with as much confidence as you can muster. ‘Spots!’

Now he’s definitely rattled. He takes a small step backwards. You exhale as hard as you can, straight at him. He goes back three steps, in a hurry. But then a crafty look comes over his face.

‘I’ve already had German measles,’ he says.

‘But these are North German measles,’ you say wildly. ‘From Schitzenhaven, a small town near the north coast. Very rare and highly contagious. If you get these . . . well, the effects are terrible. For one thing you become allergic to junk food.’

Now you’ve definitely shaken him. He’s back at the door, looking to right and left, choosing an escape route. The class is watching avidly.

‘Don’t get sucked in,’ some idiot calls out. ‘That turkey hasn’t got measles at all.’

The bully looks at you suspiciously. He’s trying to decide, do you or don’t you?