I've never read or seen any Harry Potter

That's not quite true. A colleague at work - back in 2000 - had 'discovered' the Harry Potter books for her little daughter, had enjoyed them herself, and had loaned me Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, the first in the series. I never got past the first few pages. It was a personal problem. I hate school stories, or anything to do with schools, and am even averse to discussing educational matters in an adult context.

Academia puts me off. I do think that intelligence - if it exists - is to be encouraged, but I distinguish intelligence very sharply from a knowledge of the ways of the world, good judgement and sound common-sense. Intelligence is a wonderful gift that should not be wasted or stifled, but it doesn't (in my view) deserve uncritical worship, nor should it be a matter for celebrity. No talent, however remarkable, is enough on its own to make me fawn on anyone, or give them special attention, acclaim or privileges. Perhaps I am influenced by self-knowledge of limited mental capacity, and it's just a case of sour envy. I'm certainly influenced by occasional brushes in the past with pompous and ladder-climbing academics, and teachers who assumed a superiority that grated on me.

But there's a deeper reason for not liking stories with a school background. I loathed school from my infancy, and endured it as you would an unjust prison sentence. It was compulsory and coercive. And its house-systems and uniforms, flawed discipline, exhortations to compete, and superimposed standards and expectations, all combined to alienate me and make me a secret rebel.

Secret, because of course I was (as a child) too timid and unsure of myself to be openly non-conforming. I dodged what I could, and kept my head down. I became adept at that.

Occasionally, if pushed too far by other pupils, I showed simmering fires within. I'd take so much, then react, and they'd back off. I only ever had to show that I meant business. I can't remember now what I said when annoyed, but clearly it carried the ring of conviction. 

Very occasionally I'd really snap and convert my annoyance into action that must have made other kids wary. I once used my knee to disable a boy who was goading me over something, and I know that he was hurt. I heard him. The deed done, and done adroitly, I stalked away. He was never disrespectful again. Nor were the witnesses. I felt fully justified, and would have stood up to any official inquest. But there was no comeback.

That incident confirmed my growing realisation that, now and then, standing up to something that's got out of hand is the right thing to do, and gets you noticed and respected. In later life, when at work, and dealing with an indolent (and insolent) colleague not pulling their weight, I called him out and told him what I thought of him. It cleared the air wonderfully. Nobody said anything, but I know that everyone working under me, and the more senior managers too, all took note and gave me a gold star for well-timed forthrightness and effective management. And yet I'm no dragon, not really.

But I have never struck anybody with my hands or fists, even to this day. I still don't know what actually happens when you slap a face really hard, thrust a knuckle into someone's eye, or bring a heel down onto the tender inside of their foot. Something pretty awful, I imagine. Surely they don't just shrug it off. I suspect that violence makes first-time participants feel utterly degraded, perhaps even physically sick and shaken. I don't want to find out.  

You can see, however, that for me school meant suppressed anger and resentment, and a constant but secret battle with oppressive authority and meaningless school customs and traditions. I still feel those were wasted years, though few would have guessed that this placid and amiable pupil, quietly though not brilliantly attending to her studies, was so fed up. And although I came away with three good A-Levels, and could easily have gone to university, I surprised everyone by refusing to apply. It was my long-delayed gesture of defiance. I gave them all the finger and relished the moment. Besides. the adult world beckoned.

So it shouldn't be surprising that I find the Harry Potter books unreadable. Indeed, any school-based saga would be, even if spiced with a fantasy story-line involving magic, strange creatures, and all the paraphernalia of wizardry. Ditto, the Harry Potter films: I've never seen one of them. I simply can't face them. Whatever the cunning plots, whatever the special effects, I've been scarred too much by the concept and personal reality of 'school' to ever enjoy these wildly popular creations.

My loss, I don't doubt it.

But if you had served too much time in a grey prison, or had been kept against your will in an bleak asylum, how could you ever bear to think about those years again, or voluntarily re-enter that world?