Once you’ve answered all of the questions on one or two pages, bubble in your answers before turning the page.

We had a rough time at Bastogne. No parkas, no shoepaks, no ammo, no nothing.

So sad it seemed, and its cheek-bones gleamed, and its fingers flicked the shore; / And it lapped and lay in a weary way, and its hands met to implore; / That I gently said: Poor, restless dead, I would never work you woe; / Though the wrong you rue you can ne'er undo, I forgave you long ago.

I have a Wilkinsonian admiration for T. F. Powys, ranking him in English literature with Bunyan, Swift and Blake.