My dad was a teacher. I think it’s a seriously hard profession, mainly owing to politics. Education is, by its very nature, a fucking long investment in a kid and, relatively speaking, politics changes at pace. With new Parliaments every four years or so and parties refusing to concede that a previous government may have had some things right, they change education from top to bottom, just as teachers are starting to get used to the previous wave of changes. Teachers are constantly having the rug pulled from beneath them; that must be maddening.

I was lucky enough to have loads of great teachers and picking just one was tough. I had a teacher in my secondary school called Mr Drury and he was wonderful. Flamboyant. Actually, one of my stand-up characters - Nigella Farage - has a catchprase that I directly stole from Mr Drury. Whenever a student would say something a little daft he would say [in a strong Lancastrian accent] “Ooh, ya dozy crow”. That’s where the similarities between him and Nigella stop, I hasten to add.

But probably my favourite teacher was Mr Ian Carter, who taught me in Year 6 at St Alphege primary school in Solihull.

I talked incessantly in class. The consistent thing throughout my schooling was that teachers would say I did the bare minimum to get by. I’d do just about enough to pass, and I think actually my agent would probably say that’s true of me now. “Could work harder” was on every school report.

Anyway, Mr Carter was a fun teacher. That’s my overriding memory of him. Every lesson felt fun. He gave a shit, and that was obvious. He clearly adored kids.

On song in class

He really wanted to help us become rounded individuals. How lovely is that? We were primary school kids, but he was looking at the long game. He was one of the first people to encourage me to sing. I was often singing in classes and was invariably told to stop, but Mr Carter had me up in front of the entire class to sing. After that, he had me in front of the whole school in assembly singing, and I can’t tell you how massively that contributed to my confidence. Big time. He gave me that sense of “You’re good at this Joe, give it a go. Get up there” and I think he absolutely contributed to the confidence that has allowed me to be a comedian. I really do.

Good teachers make kids laugh. If kids are laughing, they’re engaging with you, and if they’re engaging, they’re listening. I’m not saying teachers have to be naturally hilarious, but trying to get a chuckle from the kids once in a while pays off. And Mr Carter was funny. When I left, I gifted him a statue of a lion for his mantelpiece. No idea why I gave him a lion. With hindsight, it was probably an odd gift, made odder by the fact it was wrapped in wrapping paper that had his face on it. My mum worked as a graphic designer so she had made this wrapping paper with his face emblazoned on it. Yeah that probably weirded him out. But he did write me a thank you card that read something along the lines of: “Dear Joe, the pleasure was all mine/yours*

*Delete as applicable”

I thought this was hilarious. Just a wonderful thing to write to an eleven-year-old.

Skip forward a decade and a half, and I’m performing at the Edinburgh Festival and Mr Carter pops up on my Twitter feed, saying he was watching Live at The Apollo and the more he watched the more he realised it was me. It was so wonderful to hear from him.

I invited him to a tour show - in York - and got to see him. He’s still lovely and still has that “you’re doing alright, mate” sort of vibe. We went for a pint and it was delightful.

Joe Lycett was talking to Tom Cullen. Joe ‘s DVD, That’s The Way A-Ha A-HA Joe Lycett, and book, Parsnips, Buttered, are out now