I've stayed calm while reporting on gruesome murders, incendiary public meetings and neighbour disputes.

My shorthand has remained steady in the face of politicians spitting feathers about tax policy, pensioners crying over a vandalised cabbage patch, and cowboy builders threatening to demolish my nose.

Without so much as a stutter, I have even quizzed a five-star general outside the Pentagon about the President's missile defence policy.

But the demands of the job finally broke me during a phone interview last week. I was left quivering.

My usual pen-hand of steel became wobbly blancmange on discovering I was quoting the first girl I ever fell for.

She was the subject of countless classroom daydreams. Hours were spent in front of the mirror in the hope she might notice my quiff.

I devoted terrible lines of poetry to her. This verse was particularly grim: "You are my true love, I want to smother your face with kisses.

"We fit together like a hand and glove, I'll turn my promises into all your wishes."

Apart from my friend's beautifully buxom mum, who also made a terrific cheese and pickle sandwich, this girl made my adolescent heart sing the loudest.

Remember the first time you were smitten?

Teenage crushes are an essential part of growing up but now even they are bad for you, apparently.

Sociologists from Cornell University and the University of North Carolina have found that falling head over heels before the age of 17 has a significant effect on a child's vulnerability to depression. Romance increases a girl's risk of developing the symptoms by up to a third, they claim.

I always wondered why my old flames looked miserable.

Being the focus of another person's affections at school was a flattering experience. I was at the lower end of the food chain so savoured every lingering look in the corridor and framed every St Valentine's card (that wasn't from my mother).

I received a number of love tokens from a mystery girl for a few years.

She always marked the cards, "From a secret admirer" in distinctive bold handwriting. The girl (at least I hope she was) had a sense of humour too.

She once sent a Christmas card and the front of it said: 'I'm knitting you a willy warmer this Christmas'.

Inside there was a tiny strand of thread stuck on with Sellotape, accompanied by the words: 'This should just about cover it!'

Our youthful fantasies were best left in our chaotic imaginations.

I witnessed friends left crushed at discos after finally snaring their dream girl in a romantic clinch, only to discover they had the personality of Vicky Pollard from Little Britain.

Things can turn out a lot worse than that.

I heard of a woman who logged on to Friends Reunited and came into contact with a school boyfriend. They started e-mailing and he drove up from the south to meet her.

An affair began which eventually led to break up of her marriage.

The flame that burned inside me at college for my first love has long since died. I am now happily married, but it was still a strange few moments when I made that call last week and discovered I was talking to my former dream girl.

We had worked at a York hotel together on weekends.

I was a porter, she was a chambermaid and she never had far to look for help with those hospital corners.

Her uniform saw to that.

As we reminisced I told her how she'd missed the boat.

"You haven't changed Matthew, still as daft as ever," she replied.

Ah well.

As for my wife, maybe those sociologists have a case.

Forget Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt - the heartthrobs of choice for most teeny-boppers.

Who in their right teenage mind would fall for Bob Carolgees, the ventriloquist of Spit the Dog fame?

His moustache drove her wild, she told me.

I'm growing one right now.

Updated: 10:37 Friday, October 28, 2005