The first time I felt like an outsider was when I was six years old. My cousin told me we needed to change our walking route to her school because of the ‘bad kids’ who supported the National Front. That was the first time. But not the last.
When I was at secondary school, the other kids told me all about their summer holidays. I’d only ever go to Rochdale but pretended I’d been abroad like them, because they couldn’t tell if I had a tan. When I wanted to do the O-levels and A-levels I needed although I had a couple of inspiring teachers who I’ll be forever grateful to I was told that kids like me should know their limits and stay in their lane. When I was the first in my family to go to university, I knew hardly any fellow students who came from state schools. When I was a new graduate seeking a first job in the City, I met old-school bankers in old-school ties.
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