Nicholas Foulkes: Why oh why did he have to bring gingers into it?

Last week I learnt that, far from being a smug, comfortable member of the British bourgeoisie, I am in fact part of a persecuted minority. I am, of course, referring to the assertion by the Conservative former homeland security spokesman Patrick Mercer that, as far as name-calling in our armed forces goes, a redhead gets "a far harder time than a black man". Mmmmh.

I had somehow imagined that, coming with centuries of prejudice-laden baggage, race was more sensitive than hair colour, but it would seem that this is not the case... at least not in uniform, where the poor old ginger-haired individual would appear to be guaranteed to have life made miserable.

Like most people, I had never heard of Mr Mercer until recently, but his name will now live for ever as the first man brave enough to "out" prejudice against redheads. I am cautiously grateful to this former army officer, who in time might become a sort of emancipator of carrot-tops. Indeed, if one were conspiracy-minded, one could argue that his sacking for highlighting the problems faced by redheads is typical of the senseless prejudice - doubtless fear-based - against those whose follicular pigmentation verges on the orange. Mr Mercer's comments have certainly helped me make sense of the many difficulties I have encountered in life.

Like him I spent several years wearing a uniform; not a military one, but rather the robes of one of the country's older public schools. I was bullied and found the whole period quite distressing. Now, thanks to Mr Mercer, I realise that this was a manifestation of latent prejudice against the copper-coloured pudding basin and nothing to do with the tendency of some children to be utterly beastly to others.

Yet it is plain that my working life has been blighted by prejudice against redheads. My Oxford contemporaries Boris Johnson and David Cameron have been able to pursue successful careers in public life. I, however, have not. Once again, when viewed in the light of Mr Mercer's insights, it is hard not to see the hand of institutionalised prejudice against redheads at work here. Had it not been for my hair colouring I might have been a great legislator, a supreme orator, a shaper of the national destiny and whatever else it is that my quondam student contemporaries get up to at the Palace of Westminster.

Talking of politics, I have often wondered why Neil Kinnock, who seemed so sure of victory, was cheated of power. It is now obvious that reactionary forces robbed a redhead of victory. Now I will be paying closer attention to the role of ginger nuts in political life, and if we are not adequately represented I will look to the major parties for some form of affirmative action.

I have suffered in my working life. I have even been called a carrot-topped nancy boy, and was the victim of workplace bullying. I mistakenly believed this to be because I was better dressed and knew more about clothes than my tormentor. It must have been my ginger hair.

I have been told that redheads suffer from having a layer less of skin than others (presumably metaphorically, too), and I have been told that they are more prone to quickness of temper. Now, thanks to Mr Mercer, who should be promoted to shadow spokesman on issues of redheadedness, I know that my anger is quite legitimate.

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