You forget how hard it is. How political a playgound can be.

Kepler is having trouble integrating into school. He has been there for two whole years now and we had hoped that he would have been part of the little community by now. It's probably for a variety of reasons. He's english; he wants to direct the games he plays in; he's an only child and so is used to things being the way he likes them; he is a bit more worldly than the other kids; he doesn't like sport; he's a bit lazy (like me); it's a long list of lots of little things.

And to compound it there were decisions made that were out of our control. Last year the class was divided, due to numbers, and Kepler was put in the class where the majority of the kids were younger than he was – only 5 or 6 others were his age – and this meant that he wasn't socialising with the majority of his contemporaries. He made two good friends though and we were ecstatic. Julien was almost a mirror of Kepler. Dinosaurs, cars... they liked all the same things and Ninon, a little girl from the village, was fun too – a little "coquine" was how he described her. (I think that means cheeky in a nice way) but after we came back from Asia they both moved away and then the summer holidays came and we didn't have to deal with it for a while.

Now he goes to school in a mood that I would describe as depressed. Sad is probably the right word for somebody his age. He doesn't give us much information about what happens there so we have to try and piece together a picture from the fragments that we coax out of him. What did you do today? Nothing. Did you play with any of the other kids? No. They said I couldn't play. Did you play with Lilou? No, I didn't see her. (The playground is the size of a postage stamp) What did you do? I sat down. I was tired.

I want to smack those brats that are excluding my little boy. I want to stick my face in their's and tell them that they will never be half as good as he is. That is purely my irrational and emotional side – I wouldn't actually do it. Really. Can you imagine? I can see myself being dragged away foaming at the mouth and kicking and screaming. People looking on in shock. I don't think it would do Kepler much good. So instead we keep calm and try to be upbeat and offer little suggestions. Just join in. They won't let me. Play with Ali (his very good friend outside school). I don't want too. And so we go. Round in circles.

So last week we had a meeting with his teacher. He is very nice. He is young and sympathetic; at the furthest end of the spectrum from say – Wackford Squeers. He had already noticed all of this and so he has started a small campaign to get him more involved. He is directly intervening by telling them to include Kepler. We feel a bit more positive about it all.

As everyone points out to me the agony of all this hangs much more heavily on the parents than it does the child. Children are very tough and they learn to work all these things out in the end even if it is hard.

We tell him "They don't know what a cool friend they are missing out on."

And to illustrate that. To show what an empathetic little boy he is here is what he said to me one night as we were reading a book about a boy called Félix. In the picture Félix was lying on the ground having a tantrum; kicking and screaming in rage with tears jetting out of his eyes. Kepler said "That is how Enzo was except for these" and he covered the tears with his fingers. Enzo is a boy in his class. "He was being very naughty." Oh, I said and he carried on. "I don't like it when my friend is in trouble…" he paused, reflected for a moment and said "Actually, he isn't my friend but when he is in trouble I feel that he is."