Darren Burgess, Manchester...

“As anyone will tell you, the worst part of working in construction isn’t the manual labour or the weather, but the foul old bastards you have to put up with as ‘colleagues’. I learned this at the age of 18 while I was a builder working on a listed, burnt-out pub in Manchester. Bad enough that it seemed to be permantently drizzling, even in June – or that I was always given the crap jobs.

But worse, as part of some twisted initiation rite, I was grabbed one lunchtime while tucking into my sandwiches. Held down by four guffawing lads, I was then nail-gunned to the door of the pub by my jacket. To my horror, they then pulled my kecks down, and my foul, putrid cock and balls were painted white. They then swung the door open onto the street to the joy of passing lunchtime crowd. Including, to my eternal shame, a mother with three children. However, I got my revenge on the next job by driving a Transit into the scaffolding and knocking one of the brickies off. They didn’t mess about with me again.”