Whiteness has moulded, wounded, and informed me. How, when, why, where I don’t really know (I’d be an expert if I did) for, essentially, it is something you detect, not define. But right from the start, I knew that not to be white was … well … not quite right. Don’t ask me how I knew it. I just knew it. I knew from an early age, long before the geneticists, the racists, the theorists and the apologists came along, that white was … somehow … was about being … right … being bright … and having might on your side.