Apart from the one exception mentioned later, I've never been one to seek power. That probably explains why I remained a private in the Army and then a production-line worker in the car plant.

But just pause to look around the world at all the power hungry despots who rule through the spread of fear and the abuse of human rights. Closer to home we see the many examples of the bad exercise of power: the headmaster who wields the cane sadistically; the union boss who bullies his members; the sergeant-major who belittles his soldiers; and the employer who deprives his workers of basic rights.

On the other hand there is often the good exercise of power: the humane national figure who inspires citizens to do good deeds; the teacher who motivates pupils to enter new fields of challenge; the sporting leader who by example and exhortation lifts others to dizzy heights of achievement.

So clearly power in itself is neither good nor bad - the determinants are how it is exercised and the motives for its exercise.

Now to my little secret dream of the exercise of power: I'm waiting for the magical day to arrive when, seated in the best chair in front of the TV and at a crucial stage of the match, I call to the missus in the kitchen (surrounded as usual by a mountain of ironing), "Hi, Myrtle, bring me another stubby from the fridge" - and she obeys.

Ross Duffy

meet Ross Duffy