You know how the conversation is going to start. It always begins this way. It doesn't matter who you are – statistically speaking, you're going to say those words, or think them at least. And when you say, "Oh, you're tall!" I have to resist the urge to throttle you where you are standing, or reply, "Oh, really? I'd never have guessed."

The average height in the UK is 5ft 9in. I am 19 and right now I am 6ft 6in, and every time I think about it, I pray to whatever deity I can think of that I've stopped growing. I know it isn't true, because I'm still giving clothes to the charity shop. A couple of years ago, I went on holiday to the Netherlands, where the average height (according to Wikipedia) is 6ft ∫in. It was great. I advise all tall people who feel ostracised to visit.

I feel as though being this tall has subsumed the rest of my life. My family shows me off as some sort of novelty; women only ever talk about my height, rather than anything interesting; short people act as if I have wronged them somehow.

I, on the other hand, have bigger things to worry about (no pun intended): whether I'll have money to pay the rent, or how my uni grades are doing. And all the average person on the street wants to talk to me about is what it's like to be able to touch the ceiling without a stepladder. (Short answer: it's a fairly pointless skill, unless you're changing lightbulbs or are drunk and can't lean on anything.)

I feel empathy for shorter people. We have far more in common than you think.

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