FIVE years ago, I graduated from the same Scottish state secondary school where my mother still works as a teacher. Despite having since finished an undergraduate degree, in some ways it feels as if I’ve never left. This sensation is never more acute than when I walk into the art department to meet her after work, and I am greeted by the same colourful little poster I have already spied several times since entering the school at reception: amateurish but cheerful calligraphy, proudly stating “this is an LGBT-friendly classroom”.