When I was about 9, our class took possession of a pair of gerbils in a glass tank. They were to be a common enterprise, the first objective being to suitably name the little pair. The child with the winning choices would be offered the first opportunity to care for the duo over the holidays, so home I raced.

The following day, I proudly raised my hand prepared to announce what I felt sure would be a gamut of winning options, discussed with much gusto the night before around the family dinner table.

My first suggestion, the teacher diligently inscribed on the blackboard: Morris and Minor. Other children offered their ideas: Tom and Jerry, Mickey and Donald… but I was confused, these were hopeless suggestions and who were Mork and Mindy anyway?           The teacher continued to write the class’ options on the board: “Barbie and Ken”. This last option caused me to panic. Hadn’t we agreed the previous day that the two creatures were male? I hadn’t anticipated this flagrant flouting of the rules, and I realised I needed to raise the stakes quickly: “Socrates and Aristotle!” I excitedly shouted out.

Although it seemed as if the teacher’s acquiescence was waning as my agitation grew, she stoically etched my second idea onto the board before quickly announcing that she was only accepting two entries per child. This seemed too unfair and again, had not been established as a rule. I had been saving the best to last, but had I known, I would have inverted my carefully planned order of announcement. I had more to add to the list, no one had said it was only two entries per child.

The teacher started to explain the voting system, but I still had more ideas to give, so I continued to shout them out: “Disraeli and Gladstone!” The teacher glared at me. “Khrushchev and Kennedy!”: a warning for silence decreed.

I was outraged by the other suggestions, spurned by the injustice and dizzy from the game. The other children were now issuing the usual chastisements reserved only for my degradation, but I just wanted to let the teacher know I had worked hard on the task.

As the excitement simmered and the voting began, I defiantly leapt to my feet and shouted out one last pairing as loud as I could: “Jesus and Judah!”

In the resulting silence, I was evacuated from the classroom and sent to sit outside the Head Teacher’s office, sobbing.

I never did find out what had caused most offence: my disobedience or my suggestion.     In the end, the child with the winning suggestion was going to Fuerteventura for the holidays, so Bubble and Squeak stayed with us for the week anway.