Here's a true story I posted on the Mudcat a couple of years back, and it seems relevant. So here is the post again:

This is a story that was told me by a friend to whom it happened.

She was sitting in the town centre in Harlow by the fountain with her son. Now, her son is in his thirties, and he's got epilepsy, and he can't talk too well, and he is pretty unsteady on his feet, and so on.

And there were a couple of well dressed young men - visitors to the town by the look of them - and they were sitting nearby, and after a while she noticed that they were looking at her son, and imitating some of the things he said, and giggling.

And also nearby there was a rough looking local lad, a skinhead, rings in the nose and tattoos, and that kind of stuff, and big boots. And he was listening to what was going on. And then he gets up and he walks over to the jokers, and looks hard at them and tells them to "push off" - except he didn't exactly say "push off". And they pushed off quite rapidly.

And then he goes over to my friend's son, and shook his hands and said "You're all right mate!" And he marched off.

As my friend said "It makes you proud sometimes to live in Harlow!"

And one of the things about the Mudcat is, you can guarantee that there are a lot more people here like the skinhead than like the visitors, when it comes down to what really matters.