Alan Dee: It all adds up to a sad waste of childhood

There have been plenty to choose from. Syria doesn’t look too clever, does it? Protestors being jailed for a public protest against Putin makes you wonder whether Russia has changed that much in recent years. Ian Brady’s not dead yet. The list goes on.

Like many people, the biggest cloud on the horizon after the glorious summer spell that was the Olympics was the looming start of the Premiership football season.

After marvelling at the dedication, ability and modesty of the competitors who came to these shores for their once in a lifetime moment, the thought of that endless procession of overpaid under-achievers charmlessly chasing a ball, or their next big money move, was a sobering one.

The season is under way, though, and the only way we can change football is by staying away from the terraces and refusing to sign up for pay TV – money is the only language they understand. I’ve already done my bit. What about you?

But the start of the football season wasn’t the worst of it for me.

That came on the morning the A-level results were published. I didn’t have any personal interest in the process this year – no cousins, nephews or neighbours were anxiously waiting for their grades.