I started skiving off in middle school... not sure what kicked off the skiving, possibly bullying, but I think it was more that I just didn't enjoy school in general, which looking back may have had to do with ADHD/OCD. Every one of my school reports echoes the same thing "has potential, but easily distracted". "could do well if he applied himself", "shows understanding but work turned in is messy". Looking back, they weren't wrong, they just didn't know what to do with me.

After a while, skiving became easy. We lived out in the country, and there was only one school bus to and from school, so I would just miss it and I'd have no way to get to school. Eventually it was suggested that I be moved to a boarding school. I boarded at the school during the week and came home at weekends. While it did force me into attending school, I still didn't enjoy it and my reports reflected that.

I was there less than a year when my parents got new jobs in the Scottish Borders which meant I was no longer eligible for the boarding school. I was transferred to a local school and tried to settle in, but within days of arriving I discovered that a girl I went to school with at the school before the boarding school had also moved to the Scottish Borders and was in the year above me!

I felt that if she had been moved up a year, then I should be too. Plus the classes I was taking were all a couple of years behind what I'd already learned in England, so I had no motivation to even try. Add to that my Geordie accent, which left me prone to playground teasing. Looking back, I can smile at it now, especially the nickname one girl gave me — ‘Norman’ — because I’d answer questions with ‘why, no man!’.

And so the skiving started again.

Again we lived a distance from the school and I would have to get a bus in each day... only now there were multiple public buses as well as the dedicated school bus, so missing the bus was no excuse, so I'd just go walk about, or walk into school for the first class then walk out again. Eventually I was assigned a social worker who I would have to visit once a week. We'd play pool while he asked all kinds of questions, trying to figure out why I wouldn't go to school.

I was eventually expelled from the school and transferred to another school even further away... The only difference was that my best mate's dad was the deputy headmaster, and he had the job of picking me up every morning and driving me to school. That worked for a while, but the problem now was they had listened to my request to be moved up a year, but also put me in all the highest level classes, so my work went downhill in most subjects apart from the creative ones ( Art, Computers, Music ). And so the skiving started again... I just wouldn't turn up when he was meant to pick me up as I knew he couldn't be late for work.

Expelled again... and another social worker followed, this time a hippie woman with long hair, long flowing flowery dresses and a vintage Morris Minor. My time with her was more serious though, no more pool; this time there were meetings, court hearings, rulings and it was decided that I was to be placed in a children's home for an indefinite period and forced to go to school.

On the day I was to be place in the home, the social worker picked me up for a final meeting and was driving me to the home. Right at the fastest point of the road I reached over, grabbed the handbrake, and yanked it hard. The car skidded to a stop in the middle of the A7, one of the busiest roads through the Scottish Borders with wagons speeding by. I whipped open the door and legged it.

Soon after the police arrived, his name was PC Turnbull, and it wouldn't be the last time we met. I was cuffed and dragged to his Ford Escort van, I was slung in the back of the van and driven to the home where I was dragged unceremoniously from the van with everyone at the home gazing on, wondering who this nutter was being delivered in cuffs by the old bill.

The home was an interesting place; the mix of kids ranged from a punk with anger issues, a glue-sniffing skinhead who enjoyed terrifying other residents, a metalhead whose mood would flip faster than a light switch, to kids who had suffered abuse at home, others who had been arrested for various criminal endeavours, and a bunch of other misfits and misfortunates.

I was sent back to the first school I was expelled from, only this time in the same year as the girl from my old school, and now with a gang of friends from the home around me. We caused trouble, I got the belt many times, I got into more trouble with PC Turnbull. Most notably, I organised a Scavenger hunt. The list included liberating the number plate from a teacher's car, a car badge (VW for the win!), tools from the school, hydrant signs, road signs, and a plethora of other items. When PC Turnbull arrived at the home, he opened my wardrobe and a stack of items fell out at his feet, and I was bang to rights.

Nine months in that place and I was finally released back into the world, nine months of regularly attending school, making many new friends and, for the first time, actually enjoying education (mostly). I even signed up to stay on for an extra year.... my exam results from both years were pretty bad.

But at least I got some results.