Sonny Moston was a hard bastard, who, even at the age of nine, would not think twice before ramming your head between the bars of the climbing frame. His particular punishment for me was more simple - an endless labelling of myself as 'gay'.
In a move that still shocks me to this day, I decided that the only way I could end this torture was to 'become gay', thereby somehow negating any further comments. Why call someone gay if everyone knows they are?
I announced my new found sexuality to Sonny by kissing my best mate David on the cheek. David ran away, but Sonny remained. I then 'came on' to him, by approaching him and making 'kissy' noises with my mouth. This was all too much for Sonny. He ran away and cried - and never came near me again.
Interestingly enough, David, my then unwilling partner in gayness is just about to graduate as a fashion designer. Sonny's sexuality remains unknown.