Читать книгу Still Got It, Never Lost It!: The Hilarious Autobiography from the Star of TV’s Pineapple Dance Studios and Dancing on Ice - Louie Spence - Страница 5

We made so many new friends when we arrived in Braintree! Next door to us lived the Sherlocks – Jonathan, Kim, Kerry, Julia, Simon and Tara. Then the Joneses at number three – Sharon, Michelle, Paul and Wayne. Then Gary Smith, just around the back, with his older brother Smudger (everyone fancied him). Don’t get me wrong, he was cute, but I never fancied him. At the tender age of five, I had a thing for Mr Whippy, the ice-cream man. Don’t ask me why – maybe it’s because he gave me extra sauce and nuts on my 99 ice-cream, but there was something about him that captivated me.

Whenever his ice-cream van was around, I would have to go and speak to him, even if Mum couldn’t afford to buy me an ice-cream that evening. He always made me feel special and spoke to me as an adult, not the little kid I was. He was very gentle and kind – there was nothing untoward with Mr Whippy. Now, I don’t know if this was possible, but I fancied him. Yes, at five years old, I think I fancied Mr Whippy. Can you believe I never found out his name – my first love and I don’t know his name! Maybe someone who knows Mr Whippy, who used to come to Goldingham Drive circa ’75–’85, could let me know.

I can still see his face now: he had beautiful, thick, jet-black shiny hair, with a side parting and he was always perfectly groomed. Even though he was freshly shaved, he still had that shadow – you know what I mean, that type. He had the deepest chocolate-brown eyes and the longest lashes I had ever seen on a man. Believe me, I’d seen some lashes – you should have seen some of the falsies Mum used to wear in the Seventies. Whenever she was out, I would have them on more than once.

Anyway, back to Mr Whippy, whose lips were soft and full; he had the most beautiful smile and white teeth that made the five-year-old me melt. A five-year-old who didn’t even know the word gay, so don’t talk to me about nature and nurture. Let’s get one thing straight – I came screaming out of that womb, high kicking and dancing.

I SUPPOSE there were advantages to being the only boy, even though Dad jokes now and says he had four girls. Having your own bedroom in a three-bedroom house, with two sisters in one and your parents in the other is great when you are a teenager: you can shut the door and knock one out whenever you want.

But at five years old, when I was used to sharing a room with my two older sisters, Rennie and Tania, and having someone to speak to, or just knowing someone was there when I went to sleep, I felt lonely and afraid of the dark in my own room. I remember the silence, which we never had in London, where I was used to the sound of cars and people.

I slept in an MFI box-bed – I say box-bed, but I ended up sleeping in the drawers. It was one of those beds that had the chest of drawers underneath, with a bit of cheap plywood separating the mattress from the drawers, so I fell straight through and ended up in the top drawer alongside my Spiderman and Superman polyester pants. I remember literally sweating my bollocks off in those pants and if you didn’t shake and got a dribble of wee in them, they would keep the smell. There I am, back on wee again! Let’s get off the wee and back on to poor, poor, lonely me, alone at night in my room. I’ll tell you what I used to do – I would climb out of bed (or my top drawer) and crawl on all-fours to my sisters’ room next door to mine, holding my breath so they wouldn’t hear me breathe.

This was Tania and Rennie, as Kelly hadn’t arrived yet. When Kelly arrived, my relationship with Mum changed – and not for the better, in my eyes. I used to love the times when Mum and I were together on our own. I don’t know if everyone feels like this, but I can remember at a young age what it was like to have to share her with the rest of the family. I loved it when my sisters went to school and Dad went to work, and it was just Mum and me left in the house, after I had been to playschool. Rennie and Tania were already doing full days at infant school.

I remember following her around wherever she went, and I loved sitting and watching her putting on her make-up. Mum always made an effort – she never left the house without doing her hair and her make-up. To me, she was the most beautiful woman ever. I used to compare her to other women, even at that young age, and thinking that they were not the same as my mum – no make-up, hair not done. When she would pick me up from playschool, at Goldingham Hall, about two minutes from home, to me she would stand out from the other mums because she always looked so good.

I was very proud to see Mum every day after playschool, then we would go home and she would make lunch. We sat and talked – don’t ask me what about – we would just talk. Then we would lay on the sofa together in spoons and watch the afternoon film or The Sullivans. I remember that feeling of security without cares, of complete and total safety. That disappears soon enough and I am glad that I still have those memories.

I can clearly remember when that feeling disappeared. It was when my sister Kelly arrived. I was a bit pissed off when she came along, because I was used to getting all the attention. But when she was born, all I got was a packet of fruit pastilles from my Auntie Maureen and no more spooning on the sofa. As you can imagine, someone like me needs a lot of attention but what chance did I have against a screaming baby? None. I can remember feeling a bit lost and lonely: my sisters had each other, Mum and Dad had each other, and who did I have? No-one. All I had was my MFI bed and my first panic attack.

Rennie, my oldest sister, would make me sit and tickle her feet until we both fell asleep. There were many nights when I ended up asleep at the foot of her bed and many more nights when I was woken by a loud Beep-Beep-Beep, the sound of Tania’s bedwetting alarm. You see, she had a weak bladder and couldn’t keep it in; as soon as she started to wee the bed, the wee would hit a metal mesh underneath the plastic sheet beneath her bed sheet. Every time she moved in the bed, it sounded like she was crushing a plastic bag.

Me, Kelly and Rennie at the beach on one of our holidays.

The alarm would wake Mum, who would put me back in my bed, and I would go back to sleep feeling less lonely, until the next night when it would all be repeated. This continued until I was about 25. No, I’m lying – Tania only wet the bed until the age of 19.

Mum was an absolute clean freak – most families wake up in the morning to the smell of toast, we woke up to the smell of disinfectant. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then bleach was her holy water.

When we went downstairs each morning before school, Dad would already have left for work. At this time he was working on building sites – he was known for the large number of bricks he could carry on his hod.

We had to sit on the sofa in the living room. Nanny Downer would be in the cupboard on her commode, farting away while we all laughed. She would shout at us from inside the cupboard, ‘What are you laughing at out there?’

Then she would shout at Mum, ‘Patsy, Patsy, what are they laughing at out there?’

Only Nanny Downer called Mum ‘Patsy’. The more we laughed, the more Nanny Downer laughed, and the more she farted. It was not her fault, it was caused by the medication she was on, bless her.

Why was Nanny Downer in the cupboard on her commode? You might well ask. Her illness had left her too weak to walk and she could not get up and down the stairs. So, Dad decorated the shoe-and-coat cupboard downstairs, where we also kept the Hoover. He gave it a lick of paint and put some pictures on the wall, with a nice floral border in the middle.

Fortunately, Nanny Downer didn’t have to stay in the cupboard too long. She eventually got a warden-controlled flat around the corner, with a fully fitted loo, and we got our cupboard back. The shoes and Hoover had never had it so good – a cupboard fit for a commode!

Anyway, back to my mum’s cleaning regime. We were on the sofa because the kitchen floor would be wet from a good old scrub. There would be Shake’n’Vac all over the three-tone shagpile carpet, which was brown and cream with black flecks. This accompanied our orange leather sofa and mahogany-stained wood panelling, which Mum had sprayed with Mr Sheen, ready to be wiped down. The smoked-glass mirrored tiles on the walls would also be cleaned with vinegar water to bring out their shine.

Only when the kitchen floor was dry and we had been sufficiently intoxicated with the fumes of every cleaning product she could find a surface for, were we allowed to sit down for breakfast, which had to be a rushed affair.

No sooner had Mum put the plate down than she was taking it back to wash, dry and put away. While my two sisters were at school and I was at playschool, Mum would pop off to Bourne’s pie factory, where everyone in the town seemed to work, to do a quick shift. She was that manic and obsessed with cleanliness that she couldn’t leave the house without it looking as though no-one lived there.

This was not a once-a-week event, it was an everyday occurrence. Sometimes my sisters and I wonder why we have the habits we do, such as our neurotic addiction to cleanliness. Don’t get me started on the hypochondria and panic attacks. No, actually, do – we may as well start that here, because it’s an ongoing process that will keep popping up throughout this book, as it pops up throughout my life.

When we were kids, Mum would take us all to the doctor’s if one of us was ill and she would claim that we were all ill. She would say, yes, they’ve got a sore throat – he’s still got it, she’s getting it – even if we didn’t. We would all be put on penicillin – I don’t know if people have penicillin any more, do they? I remember it had to be kept in the fridge; it was milky white in colour and I remember enjoying the taste of it. We used to have it that often, we didn’t need Mum to supervise us with the dosage: we knew exactly how much to take.

Honestly, when I was 12, I thought I had a womb and was about to start my period because I just did everything my sisters did. I’m so glad they used towels when they started and not tampons, otherwise I would have really been in trouble.

As I said, I did everything my sisters did, and that’s how my dancing days started – they went dancing, I went dancing, and I just kept on dancing …