I clearly remember one of the early occasions when I recognised that the shape of my body was making me a target. I was 17 years-old and it was one of those lost days between Christmas and New Year’s where as a painfully shy and anxious teenager all I wanted to do was stay home and play snake on my brand new Nokia 5510. Instead, I was being dragged resentfully to a family gathering in my granny’s house, a smallish ex-council house in the suburbs of Dublin.