There are good schools and bad schools, and there is my school.
I went to a neighbourhood school, but it wasn't just any neighbourhood school.
Oh no. It was the worst neighbourhood school in Britain.
To be given such an accolade takes years of dedicated exam-failing, a rigid schedule of truancy and locking the music teacher in the broom cupboard.
I know the last point to be true because I was locked in the broom cupboard with the music teacher.
Earlier during the lesson, I had heard rumours of the classroom bullies' plan of an insurrection.
They intended to keep the music teacher in the cupboard until he promised to bring out the drum kit.
After all, as every music teacher knows, if you're faced with a classroom of dysfunctional students, the best thing to do is bring out a drum kit and say: "There you go, kids, bang yourselves silly."
Being the most intelligent student in the class - no real achievement as one of my peers failed to secure a work experience position when he was 14 because he kept spelling his surname wrong on the application - I plotted my escape.
I considered telling the principal, but being dunked in a toilet bowl isn't much fun after the first five minutes. (My fellow students did the toilet dunking, not the principal. It was a bad school, but it wasn't evil.)