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The first woman I ever fell in love with was 20 years older than me.

Her name was Judith and she worked as a matron at my boarding school.

I found her poise and strength of character extremely sexy and attractive, although I did worry about how she would deal with my straitened circumstances as an out-of-work actor.

Like many boarding school boys forcibly removed from their mother at an early age, I tended to place women on unfeasibly high pedestals.

With her statuesque figure and alabaster skin, Judith wouldn’t have looked out of place atop a Doric column.

Her quiet confidence and unflappable nature helped me mature as a man.

I’m not sure that would have happened if I’d continued floundering around with flaky women my own age.

No wonder I spent so much time staring out of the window, fantasising about what it would be like actually to go out with someone so graceful and mature.