At least I'm not having to pay for these ghastly sales brochures. "How about remembering us in your will?" they hint.
In a pig's arse, friend.
The mag is full of faces. Privileged faces. Crusty and ugly and hooting drunkenly at some awful reunion dinner. Oh look, there's Sir Tim Rice!
And here in a single frame are my two least favourite teachers: the baby-faced paedophile and the creepy chaplain. Forty years have passed. The paedophile is no longer baby-faced. The creepy chaplain looks like a lizard.