It also meant I went from being one of the smallest in my year to one of the tallest.

The physical change coincided with the bullying stopping – funny that, eh? – although I still struggled to fit in as we moved into the sixth form. The common room was split neatly into the people who tried to be cool and those the cool people considered to be geeks. Much as I do now in the England dressing room, with the young guys and the established players, I held my own in conversation on both sides of the divide. Whether it’s talking R & B with Steven Finn or real estate with Andrew Strauss, I can generally get by.

And get by I did. Although I flitted between the two groups, I was never comfortable in either environment. There were a number of us who dwelt in that middle ground, and the truth is I never really got close to anyone at St Theodore’s in seven years. I guess if I’d formed any close friendships then we would still be in touch but suffice it to say I cut all ties once I left.

Social networking sites like Facebook allow for reacquaintance, of course, and every now and again someone gets on my case, asking me for a signed England shirt, but apart from that I have no real interaction with anyone from my school days. My best mate was David Brown, who I played with at Burnley, and who went on to play county cricket with Gloucestershire and Glamorgan, but, like my cousins, he lived in a different part of town so went to another school.

Academically, I wasn’t great. Sitting in a classroom for an hour at a time getting talked at was my idea of torture, really, as I’ve always felt the need to be active. Things tend to sink in better for me in an informal environment. For example, I have always been a quick learner from coaches. Perhaps it’s because they don’t sit down and talk at you, and their teaching is more interactive, that I respond better.

Not that my relationship with Nasser Hussain, my first England captain, was particularly interactive. Some compared him to an old-school headmaster yet I thrived under his guidance. Although he might not have been everyone’s cup of tea, being the intense and fiery character he was, he was brilliant for me. He was always there, lingering on my shoulder, during my first few months as an international cricketer.

Not everyone was fond of his form of leadership but as a 20-year-old plucked from obscurity to take a place on a tour of Australia, he was exactly what I needed. I always felt like he wanted to help me, and, crucially, that he backed my ability. After all, he was the England captain who gave me my first chance.

From the outset, it felt like Nasser was pushing me towards the one-day team when I was called in from academy duty in December 2002. He was always the one who came and talked to me, always the one offering advice. He left me in no doubt that he rated me, whereas I was never sure that anyone else felt that way at the time.

On several occasions, although he was the team leader and one of the mature players, he found the time for me, which, as a young lad coming in, I really appreciated. By his own admission, he could be confrontational or irritable and some of the other lads didn’t always enjoy being around him because he was also hard-nosed, bordering on aggressive at times. But I always appreciated time in his company, and having him as captain.

The unmistakable thing about Nasser was his will to win, and how driven he was to make his England team the best it possibly could be. He was always seeking perfection. To such an extent that in one of my early England appearances, a one-day game in Perth, with Sri Lanka needing around 100 runs to win with just two wickets intact, while the rest of the team gathered in a huddle for a drinks break, he maintained his position at mid off, arms folded, chuntering to himself, unhappy that someone had dropped a catch. It was not good enough just to win. He wanted to win properly.

Perhaps I saw some of me in him – I have always believed that if a job is worth doing you should do it to your absolute best. If there is a picture to be hung on the wall at home, I will check a hundred times that the nail has gone in properly and the frame hangs straight. And I mean a hundred times.

Sometimes he couldn’t help himself in his quest for perfection. Another incident of note came in South Africa at the 2003 World Cup when, in my best international display to date, I had figures of 4 for 23 from 9.4 overs against Pakistan in Cape Town. It was at this juncture that Nasser opted to come up and tell me: ‘Whatever you do from this ball, just don’t go for four, it will ruin your figures.’

Cue a rank ball down the leg side that went to the fence, and screams of ‘Oh no! Oh Christ!’ from somewhere over my left shoulder. Abdul Razzaq took me for two more from my final delivery, so Nasser’s warning had gone unheeded.

Others might have been completely narked by that kind of treatment but to me he was like a friendly sergeant major.