I’ve been called ‘monkey’ many times. I’ve studied all my pictures and, honestly, I don’t look like one. I haven’t got a tail either, and as for being able to swing from trees – I never tried it as a child and it’s too dangerous now that I’ve reached the ripe young age of 60.

Of course it hurt to hear the word those first few times. I was younger then, more easily wounded by words hurled at me by others. I also had to endure monkey gestures from other youngsters. It was part of the price for looking different, for not fitting into the ‘normal’ world.

I was called ‘scarface’, ‘apeman’, ‘Dracula’, ‘Frankenstein’, ‘monster’. Some of the other names aren’t fit for a blog, but you get the drift. I tried not to let the pain show, but occasionally I couldn’t stop the tears, even if they were shed…