Flashing eyes and the smell of tar

When I was at school, I was well over six feet tall (eventually) but very skinny and gangly. It was a very rough school frequented by Gypsy boys who took great delight in bullying me on a regular basis.

I was an easy target, and - from a distance - it looked impressive when a kid of about five feet tall felled me with one blow and stood over me as I lay on the playground, gasping for breath.

Even if I had been brave enough to wreak revenge on my tormentors, I knew that there would be about three or four of his older brothers waiting for me outside the gate, ready to show me what a real beating was like. I had seen it happen more than once.

The teachers did nothing about it because they - in turn - were scared of a beating from the parents. Even today it is rare for  the police to enter some of the rougher Gypsy camps, even if they know that certain missing things or wanted people are within. I was actually involved witnessing a broad daylight robbery a few years ago and followed the stolen item with a police escort, only to have it end when the police refused to go into the camp and drove off back to the safety of the station. They would have made no paperwork for the incident, mainly from pure shame.

If this is beginning to sound racist or culturally intolerant, it isn't. It is simply statements of fact. I have know many wonderful Gypsies (I was taught stone-carving by one), but the area I grew up in had quite a few rough ones.

At school, most of the boys called each other 'mush'. Coming from their mouths it sounded intimidating or aggressive, but I have only just learned that it is a Romany word meaning 'man'.

I eventually began dealing with the more dangerous episodes of school life using humour. It is quite hard to hit someone who makes you laugh - so long as the laugh is not at your expense. It's tricky. The last time I was seriously threatened by a 45 year-old disturbed giant, one of the long list of his reasons to justify him hospitalising me was my humour. "You think you're funny, don't you?" he said as he inched closer to me with his huge fist clenched.

Ever since school days, I have valued and protected my sense of humour and I hate losing it by hanging around people who lack their own.