One morning when I was fifteen, I walked into my form class and one of my peers punched me in the side of my head for no reason. I did nothing in response, I just sat down. Yesterday I turned 38 *leaves for an extended period of vomiting before returning to the keyboard to complete the sentence* and only now am I starting to admit to myself that I was bullied for pretty much the entirety of my school life and that it had a major effect on me.
There was only one other violent incident that stands out. This was when I was about ten and a case of mistaken identity. Riding my BMX up and down the back lane, two slightly older boys approached and accused me of playing the violin.
"He plays the violin"
"No I don't. Honest"
"Yeah you do"
"No, you're thinking of Max. He lives at number 16"
Notice the way I so easily gave up my best friend at the time.
"He's lying. He plays the violin. Get off the bike."
I then proceeded to do as they asked, put myself into the embryo position on the ground and allow them to kick the shit out of me until a neighbour shoo-ed them off.
These two stories give a good hint as to not only why so few string quartets come out of Newcastle but also why I was bullied. I didn't fight back. I just didn't have that instinct.
There were a few other reasons. I was a geek, interested in things. Being interested in things is not a good look at school. At the age of five I asked the teachers if I could give a talk in assembly on Islam. I wasn't boy-ish. Although I was obsessed with sport and had that Aspergers like obsession with facts that all boys seem to have, I didn't have that boy-ish posture or love of smashing shit up. I was timid, I flinched easily. This was interpreted, as anything out of the ordinary is at school, as being 'gay'. The word gay followed me around everywhere - shouted at me in corridors or from passing bus windows. Despite a pretty solid record at getting girlfriends and my weekend hobby of bike riding to distant newsagents and buying the highly nippled Daily Sport - I was 'gay'. And I was just a little bit odd. Still photos of me in conversation still usually catch my hands gesturing in strange positions or my grin extending Ardman Wallace like. These oddities have at times been beneficial in my career as a comic actor. They weren't as a child.
Now when I walk into rooms I no longer fear being punched in the head or hearing a colleague suggest everyone stick their backs up against the walls. But I do have, somewhere in my recesses, a fear of attack. This has led me to build myself a sort of defence system otherwise known as a dysfunctional personality. Every now and again someone tells me 'I thought you were a bit cold, a bit of a nob at first but actually you're alright' which I have to tell you is a fun conversation. I'm very cautious about showing enthusiasm for things or people. Showing you care about something is a vulnerable act. I wrote an entire book and 2,700 tweets mocking my own industry. This may well have been a way of projecting "I don't care whether you cast me or not, I don't like you guys anyway". Of course I do care but am incapable of showing it.
My experiences have served as a useful motivational tool at times. I've given all my tormentors imaginary miserable lives made only more miserable by turning on the TV and seeing my success as a star of under the radar digital channel sit coms and Birdseye chicken commercials.
But when the work isn't coming in, when I'm in an actor's trough (Actor's Trough could be an excellent euphemism for something filthy I expect) what am I left with? Twenty years of social anxiety, a dickish demeanour and a poor track record at making friends. No one has come out of this well. I wasn't even on the bottom rung at school - I floated just above it - think of the lifetime effect on those who took hourly savagings.
It's too late to change my personality now. I have what I have, all I can do is work with it.
Writing this has given me a knot in my belly and a quiver in my lip. I'd like to end on a positive note but that doesn't feel honest. I am ashamed of being bullied which seems rather unfair, that I should have to suffer the shame, but it's the truth. The entire experience was utterly without merit. And there I go again, not showing enthusiasm for things.
