The word “bullying” meant something different when I was a lad.

It meant a “dead leg” in the cloakrooms, a pair of compasses jabbed into your thigh by an evil classmate in maths, having your packed lunch, exercise books or even yourself thrown out of a window – the usual character-forming interplay of hormonally-deranged inmates of an all-boys grammar school.

Since bullying is now the word of the day, I thought I’d look for a definition from the National Bullying Helpline, the charity whose indiscreet founder Christine Pratt claimed that members of Gordon Brown’s staff had contacted the helpline.

The charity’s website says bullying can be persistent behaviour or a one-off act, and can include – deep breath, now – “physical contact which is unwanted, unwelcome remarks about a person’s age, dress, appearance, race or marital status, jokes, offensive language, gossip, slander, sectarian songs and letters, posters, graffiti, obscene gestures, flags, bunting (bunting?!) and emblems, isolation or non-co-operation and exclusion from social activities, coercion for sexual favours, pressure to participate in politicial/religious groups, intrusion by pestering, spying and stalking, failure to safeguard confidential information, shouting at staff, setting impossible deadlines, persistent criticism, personal insults”.

By this yardstick, you would think that every person in every workplace had been both a bully and a victim of bullying at some point. Actually, the helpline puts the victimhood tally at one in four.

With definitions so wide, it is hardly surprising that some of the Prime Minister’s staff are, according to a new book by Andrew Rawnsley, claiming to have been bullied. It has been no secret for years that Brown has the temperament and people skills of a wounded bear.

All of which may be pretty unpleasant for the public servant on the receiving end of Gordon’s volcanic ire. But I’m not sure how badly all this plays with the general public who perhaps already believed that The Thick Of It – with its vengeful scheming, buck-passing, vein-popping viciousness and naked ambition – got our political process about right.

In any case, we Brits quite like the idea of someone who, metaphorically at least, knocks heads together in order to Get Things Done.

I’m wagering that Winston Churchill did not attend too many workshops on nurturing self-esteem in the workplace. In a slighty pervy way, we loved the notion of Margaret Thatcher’s Iron Lady demeanour and the idea that she dished out “handbaggings” to those with whom she was displeased.

Ironically, some of the newspapers currently dissecting the accusations against Brown have workplace bullying down to a fine art. The national Press has a long history of monsterings and backside-kickings dished out with relish by editors proud of their tyrannical reputations.

We have even turned bullying – by its widest definition – into our most popular entertainment. Anne Robinson is rude for a living. Grumpy Sir Alan Sugar’s not very touchy-feely catchphrase is, “You’re fired”. Simon Cowell spends his working day sneering at and crushing the hopes of deluded wannabes.

One of the most respected figures in sport, Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson, is legendary for his “hairdryer” tirades.

And who can forget the day that a furious Fergie kicked a boot across the dressing room, accidentally hitting David Beckham above the eye.

This is not so different from the accusations now being made against Gordon Brown. If the odd rollicking is thought permissible to get the best from a football team, surely the man running the country is entitled to the odd motivational rant.

Anna, Martin

. . . and the

22-year niggle

We’ve all had those little niggles with family and friends – a thoughtlessly-selected Christmas present, a rude remark over the dinner table, an invitation gracelessly refused or that friend who always turns up at the most inconvenient time and overstays his welcome.

But we wouldn’t want these grievances aired for the world to see. Yet this is precisely what has happened with former newsreader Anna Ford and novelist Martin Amis, who was best man at Ford’s wedding to her late husband Mark Boxer.

In a letter to the Guardian, Ford complained that Amis visited Boxer in 1988 as he lay dying, smoked over his bed and stayed too long because Amis was filling in time waiting to catch a plane at Heathrow.

Amis responded that Ford was confusing two visits he made, he did not smoke in Boxer’s bedroom and the plane he had to catch was not until the following morning.

Acres of newsprint have now been expended on a 22-year-old perceived slight. Bearing in mind that Ford is a recent former co-chancellor of Manchester University, and Amis its professor of creative writing, the powers-that-be would do well to vet the invitation list for future functions. We don’t want this war of words to spill over into something ugly over wine and nibbles at a university soirée.