Like most revolutions, this one didn’t start with a big bang. It started surreptitiously, with apparently good intentions, that we all went along with. But now here we are, with men now forced to wear skirts, dresses and knickers, and boys made to wear nappies. And who could have imagined this way back then?

But let’s go back to what most of us think was the beginning.

There had been increasing pressure on the authorities to do something about violence against women. It had become so bad that many women were afraid to go out on their own, especially after dark. Everyone agreed something must be done.

At the time I was a teacher in one of the biggest schools in Longchester. I taught economics and maths, and loved it. The interaction with our students, and knowing I was helping influence the next generation more than made up for the indifferent salary.

At the height of the fervour about violence against women our local university’s student union president, Rachel Simmons, set out her plan to raise awareness and force some action.

She organised a march through Longchester from the football club to the guildhall in the centre of town to protest. But the clever bit, and the bit that drew all the press attention, was that she asked all the men who joined the march to wear a skirt or dress. It would, she said, make us aware of how it felt to feel vulnerable.

It drew huge amounts of attention.

I had the girls in my classes asking me if I was going on the march, and if I’d be wearing a skirt. Girls and women across the city started asking their menfolk if they'd be going, and did they want to borrow a skirt or dress. It became a big social event, and one that men found hard not to join in with. It was a piece of PR genius.

As a single man, I had no skirts or dresses I could borrow, so I spoke to a good friend of mine, Peggy, to see if she could help. Of course she thought it was hilarious that I should consider wearing a skirt, but such was the publicity around the event, and the need to do something about the problem, that she agreed I could borrow one of hers, and that we could go together.

In the week leading up to the march every class I took started late because of the questions about whether ‘Sir’ was going to the march, and whether I’d be wearing a skirt. When I finally conceded that I would I'm sure it increased the attendance from those students who wanted to see me dressed like that.

And I knew I wouldn’t be alone – there were lots of conversations between the boys and girls, asking to borrow things to wear.

The local TV stations got behind it too, and it became an event that everyone who was anyone felt the need to support.

On the evening of the march I went round to Peggy’s place to get dressed. She ran a café in the centre of town and had an apartment above it. I felt terribly self-conscious taking off my trousers to try on her skirts, but we settled on an above-the-knee-length pleated plaid skirt she had.

As soon as we stepped outside I felt the chill on my legs, wearing only a skirt. I also felt quite vulnerable, as Ms. Simmons wanted, with only a fairly short skirt protecting my modesty. But there were dozens of other people on their way to the march, and almost all of the men were wearing skirts or dresses too. There was quite a carnival atmosphere, and I was happy to go along with it.

The march was a huge success. It even made the national news.

But the publicity only fuelled Rachel’s plans. The day after the march she announced that the march had been great, but that if men really wanted to show their support she wanted them to wear a skirt more often to show that support.

In the next few days a couple of schools announced that they’d changed their uniform policy to allow boys to wear skirts if they wanted to. The uptake was huge, and hundreds of boys started wearing girls’ school uniforms. It was quite a sight, seeing boys in little pleated skirts, but it was all in a good cause, and everyone seemed to be having fun while doing a good deed.

Pressure started to mount on other schools to change their policy too, and it wasn’t long before they did. So peer pressure meant that it ended up with most boys going to school in a skirt.

Then came the pressure on us teachers to show our support too, and I ended up borrowing a couple more of Peggy’s skirts to wear to work.

Buoyed by her success, Rachel stood for a local council election, and won with a landslide. Before long it was mandatory for schools to have a policy which allowed boys to wear skirts to school, and for their teachers to show their support by doing likewise.

The school I worked at followed suit quickly, and the zeitgeist meant that it was hard not to comply.

Peggy was very accommodating, and said I could keep the skirts I’d borrowed. It still felt really strange, of course. But nowhere near as strange as things were about to become.