Heckling, groping, harrassment. Every one of us has a story to tell. Every one. And not just anecdotes about the odd catcall in the street or tea-making jibes in the office.

Here's one of mine: on the train home from my first visit to Manchester a man sat down next to me, and undid his tracksuit bottoms. There were only three other people in the carriage at the time, one another young woman, who was really quite shaken. He'd been sporadically bothering both of us before the grand finale and she hadn't known what to do. My new friend was about 6ft 4in with his tracksuit trousers tucked into Homer Simpson socks. I gave him what my grandmother liked to call a Paddington stare and excused myself. The ticket collector, when I asked him to, refused to call the police. When I told my tutor at uni she said: "I hate when that happens."