AS a leading choirboy in my midteens I became involved in an adolescent romance with the vicar’s daughter.

Her father strongly disapproved, but being a man of the cloth and somewhat enlightened for the 1950s, I think he’d resolved to let matters take their course.

Consequently I wasn’t surprised to receive an invitation to Sunday tea.

As expected it was a typically awkward afternoon of long silences and I was glad when tea was eventually served.

Everything went well initially and I began to think I’d made a reasonable impression but events unravelled.

As I reclined in the armchair, with a plate of biscuits in one hand and my tea in the other, the vicar’s Golden Labrador, who’d been giving me sideways glances all afternoon, suddenly began simulate sex vigorously against my trouser leg.

With my hands full I was helplessly embarrassed and everyone, with the possible exception of the dog, was relieved when the time came for me to take my leave.

I didn’t get another invitation but shortly afterwards my voice broke and I was ejected from the choir.

The vicar’s daughter lost interest.

Perhaps it was the vestments that attracted her.

VJ Connor, Bishop Auckland.