“So you want to be a journalist?” boomed the man with the 70s sideburns and hint of eau de pipe.

I nodded, shamefaced. I liked the idea of being a journalist, but really wanted to be a fashion designer. However, it was Careers Evening, and I had to pick at least two ‘experts’ to sell me my chosen path. So I half-listened, impressed with the local newspaper editor’s enthusiasm for his role, but not really taking it all on board.

Three years later I was drawing and sewing as though my life depended on it. The lecturers said I showed promise, and that my designs were creative. But I was a fish out of water among my fellow, slightly privileged student colleagues. A sardine in a sea of salmon. My coal miner daddy didn’t own a horse that raced at Chepstow, and my home help mummy didn’t drive a BMW. I didn’t fit in, so I dropped out, and signed on.

“So why do you want to be a journalist?” boomed the man with the 70s sideburns and actual pipe in his mouth.

“I’m nosey,” was my spontaneous, brain-not-in-gear answer. He laughed and said: “Well, that’s a good start.”

How jammy was I? Gainfully unemployed for just two months and the newest trainee recruit to the Free Press of Monmouthshire. And forever indebted to (Lord) Don Touhig for patiently giving that ungrateful schoolgirl a start to a joyous career.

I reported through the 80s, on issues of the day like the miners’ strike and Chernobyl, interviewing politicians like Neil Kinnock and Robin Cook. The 90s saw me working in sport and interviewing legends like Seve Ballesteros and Colin Jackson.

But my favourite interview came less than a year after starting my first job. There was an up-and-coming Welsh actor in town, visiting the Free Press offices because he was friends with the advertising manager. I was honoured, envied and downright hated to have been chosen for the task. ‘Tony’ and I hit it off instantly. If he was bemused to be interviewed by a 19-year-old, he hid it well, and politely and generously answered my naïve questions.

Anthony Hopkins was then 10 years away from his Oscar for Silence of the Lambs. For the next hour, he told me the story of his life, talking to me as though I was an actual bona fide journalist. His kindness and total lack of grandeur were inspiring.

I rounded off the interview with the cringeworthy: “What do you plan to do with the rest of your life, Tony?” Finally showing his amusement with a lovely big smile, he said: “Well, I think I’ll give this acting lark a bit more of a go.”

And then… completely curveballed me: “And what do you intend to do with the rest of your life, Jackie?”

“Meet more people like you,” I stuttered. Lucky girl indeed.