to find out the truth.
But before you bare your soul, do you recognise this functional fella?
Most mornings, Trevor is among the first to arrive. As he passes through the school gates in his Citroen Xsara Picasso, he salutes Ken from the site team. Bound by a free tool exchange and shared knowledge of the local spare-parts network, theirs is a special relationship.
Trevor backs into the reserved space behind the design and technology block, before easing one of his "projects" - a bench surface that needs to be stripped down before he can install it in his garden workroom - from the car. Zipping up his fleece, he sneaks it into the classroom before the first morning bell and sticks the kettle on.
The students like Trevor. When their "toast rack of the future" project is going arse over tit, he will always be around to calmly step in and help. Some swift strokes of the plane and an application of wood glue are all that's needed to fashion it into something that Heal's department store would be proud of. In fact, it's common knowledge among the older year groups that, if you catch him in the right mood over lunchtime, he'll probably do your coursework for you.
Occasionally, Trevor will duck into the staffroom to rinse out his giant Aston Villa mug. But a placid disposition can't disguise the fact that he's starting to get a little bit annoyed with the lengthening list of favours that his colleagues are bombarding him with: "Hey, Trev. The old fella's smalls have got caught in the Dyson again. I've got it in the car: could you look at it for us?"
And in staff meetings, when everyone else is fretting about health and safety or auditing, he'll slide the pencil from behind his ear, rest the back of the meeting agenda on the latest copy of Top Gear magazine, and make a start on those plans for his kitchen extension.