For school homework we had to write a lengthy essay on Ivor Novello. I'd already covered the little I knew about the man and his music, and it just wasn't enough.

I was suffering from 'writers block' so I sought the help of my father whom I soon discovered knew as much about Mr Novello as I did.

My 'writers block' deepened. Suddenly my father had an idea. He didn't get too many of those, but when he did they were generally good.

"Write about how he fiddled his petrol ration," he said.

"What?" I answered increduously.

Then my father proceeded to tell me all about Ivor Novello's court case which I wrote down in more polite and less dockyard language.

When I read the completed essay back to him he seemed pleased.

"He'll get into trouble with that," said my sister. "There's not a lot about music."

"There's a lot about bloody Ivor!" said my father contemptuously.

When I handed my essay in, I got top marks for what the teacher described as "A well researched piece of biographical work."

Thanks Dad!