Читать книгу Best Day of My Life: True stories to inspire, move and entertain - Told by a cross-section of the UK's celebrities and courageous everyday people - Giles Vickers Jones - Страница 10

TV Presenter

My name is Dave Berry and I’m a 23-year-old TV presenter from South London. Well, actually I’m 29. But everyone in my industry lies about their age. In fact, the only reason I’ve come clean is because once you’ve read my story you won’t have to be Columbo to work out the truth.

It was 14 September 1988 and I was celebrating my ninth birthday (see, I told you it wouldn’t take long). The whole shebang started with the arrival of my friends at my house. They were all there: Paul Heyes, Jack Kennedy, Aiden McConville, Andrew Clark and the black kid in the A Team jumper whose name I could never remember.

My mum and dad, God bless them, had even bunged my little sister a glo-worm sleeping bag to keep her quiet when I opened my presents. So, in a nutshell, I was ready to rumble. Now, in 1988 in Charlton, Southeast London, there were three things that made you a cool kid: 1) being able to do an ‘olly’ on a skateboard; 2) having the ability to complete Chase HQ on the Sinclair Spectrum 48K computer; and 3) owning a twin-cassette black ghetto blaster with graphic equalisers. I’ve never been the sporty type so the skateboard was out and the thought of waiting until I was 17 for the Spectrum to load its bloody game from the tape was never an option. So when I opened my first present and it was option 3 – a big, black ghetto blaster – I was over the moon!!! We immediately stuck Don’t Be Cruel by Bobby Brown in tape deck A (it had twin cassettes of course) and the party kicked off … ghetto blaster … cakes … sweets … fizzy drinks … hit sister … sweets … pass the parcel … more sweets … Rocky IVonvideo … another fight with my sister … more cake …

We only stopped twice – once to catch our breath and once to open my VHS-shaped presents from Uncle Michael and Auntie Francis. They were: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (8/10), Teenwolf (7.5/10) and The Boy Who Could Fly (2/10). Pure heaven and on it went … ghetto blaster … cakes … sweets … fizzy drinks … hit sister … sweets … pass the parcel … more sweets … Rocky IV … another fight with my sis … more cake …

Then, after what seemed like only 20 minutes, it was time for my friends to go home, party bags in tow. After bidding farewell to Aiden, Paul, Jack, Andrew and the black kid in the A Team jumper whose name I can never remember, I was shattered, which is surprising seeing as I had just consumed 109 times my own body weight in such wonderful sugary snacks as French Fancies, Cola Bottles and Dib Dabs. However, as I sat quietly in the front room watching Harrison Ford bundle a small Chinese boy into the back of a silver Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, I was feeling full and content. Just as the blonde one was about to eat a monkey’s brain my mum dragged me away and into the back room.

As I walked through the door, I saw it. It was black and shiny in places, red and padded in others. It was sleek, sexy and sophisticated. My mum and dad had only gone and bought me … A FUCKING BMX!!!!!!!!

And I’ll tell you this, dear reader, forgetting the time I fell off that bike and broke my nose because I was riding as fast as I could while listening to ‘Like A Virgin’ by Madonna on my Sony Walkman (yes, the one with orange foam on the headphones), I always said that if ever I was to write about the best day of my life it would be the day I saw that BMX for the first time. It was … So, thanks, Mum, Dad, Kate and the black kid in the A Team jumper whose name I can never remember. You’re the best.