Tell me, what do you see, young man? You probably see a guy in a wheelchair, drool cascading from his chin. You see someone who can’t control his body properly, whose arms and legs move in a funny way. A man who tries to speak, but when he does he just makes incomprehensible noises. A man who clearly gets angrier and angrier whenever you or your friends mock him, making the situation funnier and funnier. So you carry on winding him up, until it reaches the point that the man is almost in tears the situation is so unbearable for him; yet you know he can’t do anything to hurt you in response, so you carry on, seeking to amplify the perverse thrill and feeling of power it gives you.

You do not see a middle-aged man just trying to get on with his life. A man living alone in his South-London flat – something many once assumed to be impossible for him. A man who has blogged almost daily for over twenty years. A man with a Master’s in Film Studies. A Filmmaker. Someone still grieving the loss of his former partner. A man proud of what he has achieved. A ‘survivor’ of the special school system, who has, over the last twenty years, watched most of his classmates die one by one. A man desperate to stop your taunts, and would now do anything to live in peace; someone who finds your perverse game so hurtful that it drives him to absolute despair. But you obviously don’t see any of these things, because if you did, perhaps you wouldn’t take so much pleasure in mocking him.