I WAS proud of my daughter when, the other night, she firmly stated that she wasn’t going to watch The Apprentice – her favourite programme – as she had to revise for exams.

I admired her commitment and determination to do well – two things which I lacked at her age.

To me, revising was something you always talked about doing but never got around to – at least not until the night before, and even then it was only for an hour or so because Dallas was on and there was no way you were going to miss the bust-ups between JR and Sue Ellen in favour of the finer points of the equilateral triangle.

I was a last-minute crammer, stupidly believing that I could memorise two years’ worth of tuition in one evening. No wonder I did so badly and had to retake some of my exams – even English, my best subject.

The problem with revision is that no one wants to do it. Even those with a passion for the subject find swotting up on it difficult.

Pouring over exercise books must be one of the most tedious ways to spend time. There’s always something more enjoyable that you could be doing: washing your hair, walking the dog, watching Traffic Cops – anything other than revising.

The distractions are even worse nowadays. A simple click of the keyboard – most children use computers to revise – and up pops your best mate on Facebook, which is far preferable to studying.

And it’s torture when friends finish their exams before you, leaving them free to go out.

I really felt for my daughter when we went out one Saturday, while she remained behind with her books.

What makes revising so painful is knowing that not all of your efforts will be useful. There’s so much to digest, yet the questions will only cover a small portion of it.

I remember drawing up a revision timetable, but never using it. Nor could I get up at 5am – as many people did – to swot for the day ahead. I feel a complete fraud, offering tips to my daughter – “plan in ahead, pace yourself, make notes, highlight facts” – when my own methods were ramshackle.

I told my parents – dad was harder to convince – that I had every afternoon off to revise, when all I intended doing was watching Wimbledon. I might not have been able to explain how Macduff killed Macbeth, but I knew how many break points Virginia Wade took in her final against Betty Stove.

I’m glad those days are behind me. Nowadays I can’t retain much information; I often forget my phone number, and sometimes have difficulty remembering my own name.