Frinton Primary School 1978. The autistic challenge that was school uniform. The sensory overload of a scratchy jumble sale jumper, a static-fuelled nylon vest, woollen wired pinafore and the torture that was a nylon petticoat – forever riding up and sparking out, as you attempted to keep Mrs Robson happy and hide in Class 4’s book corner. Attempting to focus on the read at hand (probably my childhood fav Stig Of The Dump) when, much like your nan frying up some bubble and squeak whilst smoking a million John Players in her polyester pinny, the combustion was about to be had. And that was all before 3pm, when I would drag my nylon-clad self home for a dance in the big room to The Supremes on our Garrard. Happy days. Happy static days.

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