I find it helps not to take yourself too seriously.

It took a while for me to learn this. When I was small I took life very seriously. I doubt if I had met myself as a child that I would have liked me very much. As it was I didn’t like being me very much. Life was dull, but at least I was tall. I liked being tall.

As I approached my teenage years school came to resemble hell. Much to my disappointment I gradually stopped being one of the taller children and, from thirteen, was gradually overtaken by my contemporaries. Having started playing rugby as a lock forward I gradually worked through the pack positions till I was too short even to be hooker.

On moving to the South I discovered to my horror that people were taller (due to better nutrition and, historically speaking, not having to work in holes in the ground).

But there were some advantages to being the son of a mining family at university and in the strange world of 1980s Labour politics. Arguably working a hole in the ground was considerably more rational than working in 1980’s Labour politics. Nonetheless, I survived that strange life to move during my thirties first to the private sector and later to starting my own business. This has had considerable advantages as I have never felt the need to employ anyone taller than myself.

But as life went along I realised, first of all that having hair is seriously over-rated and that there were greater crises to be faced in mid-life - one actually becomes shorter. My Dad, who was drastically bow legged, ended his life a couple of inches below his adult height. Right now, even my son is taller than me, though, possibly due to the growth hormones to be found in your average high street burger, he is forced to look up at most of his bean-pole mates. 

I can’t help but wonder if life would have been any different had I ended up taller?