The Sound of Laughter (16 page)

The following week I turned up for work with the flu, and when I say the flu I mean proper flu, not just man flu. I could hardly breathe, my eyes and my nose were streaming, but I soldiered on regardless. I had a sworn cardboard-crushing oath to uphold. At the end of the day I was called into the manager's office.

'I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go, Peter,' he said all formal like.

'We?' I said looking around. 'Are you schizophrenic?'

Then his mood suddenly changed.

'Look, I don't like a smart mouth, you're sacked, all right?'

'Why? What have I done?'

'You've not done anything and that's the problem. Your work isn't up to the standard we require here at Netto.'

'I crush card. What do you want, orgasms?'

He ignored my comment and asked me to hand over my Netto jumper and knife. Now just so you know, when I say knife I am referring to my standard issue Netto Stanley knife that every shop-floor assistant was required to carry on his/her personage at work. Just in case you thought I'd turned into a knife-wielding psychopath.

Furious, I handed them over to him, but then I did something that I'd never done before. I threw him into the lockers and threatened to bite his nose off. Now I'm not a violent person. I'd like to blame my actions on a number of things: the flu, blind rage and the half-bottle of Night Nurse that I'd knocked back on my tea break.

I went home and waited half expecting the police to come battering down my front door at any moment. But
it was just his word against mine and thankfully nothing ever came of the incident. Well, not unless he reads this book and I get sent down for common assault.

Out of one shit job and into another. I got a job up the road at Hollywood Nights, a video shop situated in the back of the Spar supermarket next to a small sub-post office. When I was growing up I'd always imagined working in a video shop would be my dream job. I seemed to have spent half my life in them, hiring the latest video releases or badgering the store owner for the cardboard stands I'd seen in the shop window of
Police Academy 5
or
Cannonball Run II.
But now I was on the other side of the counter and, disappointingly, I found the job to be quite boring and rather lonely.

I spent most of my shift reading magazines that I'd managed to smuggle out of the Spar on my way into the building, or eating out-of-date Monster Munch from the back of the stockroom (not that I could ever taste the difference). The customers in the Spar and the post office could hear the TV in the video shop, so as a result I was only ever allowed to watch family films. Consequently I must have seen
The Love Bug
and
Lassie
about seventy times.

Bored on pension days, I'd deliberately play
Bonnie and Clyde
on the video and turn the volume up during the robbery scenes – 'Stick 'em up, get down on the
floor.' Then I'd close my eyes and wait for the pensioners' screams from behind the partition. It worked like a charm, but the Spar manager never saw the funny side. Some people have no sense of humour.

Occasionally the area manager would show up and make me justify my wages. He'd force me to hoover the shop and polish the video covers on the shelves. Can you believe I actually had to polish the video covers?

Sometimes I'd put a few adult-film cases in the Kiddies' Castle but even that backfired. One night I had a bloke lingering in the shop. I could tell from his finger-less gloves that he wanted soft porn. He deliberately waited until I was about to close and then he slammed an adult-video case down on the counter. Then without making eye contact he hastily snatched the tape out of my hand, scooped up his loose change and bolted.

About ten minutes later, as I was just about to padlock the serving hatch, I saw the same bloke charging down the aisle in the Spar towards me. He thrust the rental case into my hand and whispered, 'Are you taking the piss?' I opened the box and read the tape, but instead of
Free My Willy 2
it was
Rosie and Jim.

I don't know if you're familiar with
Rosie and Jim,
but basically it's a kids' show about two puppets and an old man who sail around on a canal barge. Not really the kind of thing you want when you've got the big light
dimmed and your pants around your ankles.

The only time we ever had a rush on was on Saturday nights and then it was usually couples arguing over what video to get. They used to drive me mental. They'd pick a Top Title from the latest releases section no problem, but it was when they came to the counter and I told them they were now entitled to a 'free pound video' that things went tits up.

They'd spend ages choosing a second film because the bloke always wanted something violent and trashy about 'ninjas settling old scores' while his girlfriend wanted something slushy and trashy like a mother fighting to get her kids back from her estranged husband who's taken them to Iraq.

But in the end it didn't matter which video they decided upon because it would never get watched anyway and I guarantee you they'd both be asleep before the end of the Top Title.

Getting a 'free pound video' from Hollywood Nights was a false economy, a bit like trying to chose three DVDs for £15 in HMV. You can only ever find one you like, maybe two at a push but try for a third and you'll be in there for hours. Then when you get home you look in the TV guide and the third film is on Channel 5 the following night.

The only perk I had working at Hollywood Nights
was that occasionally I got to take home a Top Title at the end of the shift. I'd type my staff password into the computer and put the video hire through the till. Big mistake. I only did it a few times and then I got a call at home from the area manager Gavin.

'I have reason to believe you've been stealing from Hollywood Nights.'

He said he'd found confirmation on his hard drive that I'd made numerous transactions over the last few months and the Top Title he shopped me on was
What's Love Got to Do With It.

He accused me of hiring videos out to customers and pocketing the money, the cheeky bastard. I confessed to occasionally borrowing a few videos at the end of my shift but I said I'd never once profited from my actions in any way. Gavin said he'd no choice but to 'let me go' and sacked me over the phone. I was gutted and couldn't believe I'd been sacked for taking Tina Turner home.

So what do you do when you lose a job? Well most people would go to the pub and get drunk. But I went to the pub, or in this case the Wine Lodge, and got another job. It was to be my first and hopefully last time working behind a bar.

I've never had a taste for alcohol, except for Baileys, but then again that's more of a dessert than a drink. Being teetotal, pub culture was completely alien to me
and I hadn't a clue what some of the customers were asking for half the time.

'Can I have a Blastaway?'

What the hell is a Blastaway? I mean, how was I to know that it was a bottle of Diamond White and Castaway mixed together? Who thought these concoctions up, for God's sake?

A Snake Bite, a Black Russian, I was beginning to get paranoid and thought that customers were just making these names up in order to take the piss out of me. The final straw came when one bloke asked me for 'a pint of Golden'. I had half a mind to take his pint glass into the Gents and urinate into it. Why couldn't somebody just order a pint of beer and be done with it?

And as it was the Wine Lodge there were all the names of the wines to contend with as well. I'd have customers asking me for 'Ozzie Whites' and 'Blobs'. For the first few weeks I thought everybody was speaking jive.

I was also incapable of getting a head on a pint of beer. There must be some special kind of magic involved because I could never master it. I'd watch the other members of staff and try to copy them but it was useless. I just couldn't get any head (story of my life). The drip tray would be overflowing, the floor would be sopping wet, and I'd be trying everything, shaking the glass, waggling my finger around in the drink when the
customer wasn't looking. Apart from actually spitting into the beer I just couldn't get a head on any of the pints. I even considered coming in early and squirting fairy liquid into all the pint glasses.

I was quickly turning into a bit of a joke at the Wine Lodge, but I wasn't laughing. After two weeks the manager decided to 'let me go'. And even though it was just another dead-end job I was gutted again. I seemed to be being 'let go' all over Bolton. I could see a pattern emerging.

Why couldn't I just settle down into a job and work like a normal person? Because I was living a lie. Deep down, no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I knew that my destiny lay elsewhere.

Secretly I still fantasised about being a comedian and was tired of being told what 'a funny fucker' I was by other staff at work. But funny at work wasn't enough. I had to be funny enough to work. (Did you see what I did there?)

So after much deliberation I decided to go back into further education, or in my case forward to university. The only problem was I had no qualifications but, hey, I wasn't about to let a trivial thing like that get in the way. I decided to bluff my way in. I realised that there might be consequences to my actions but what did I have to lose? Nothing.

The first thing I had to do was get the proper application forms. When they came I filled them in at the garage. I bought a thesaurus and the other lads chipped in by helping me write fictitious references and forging lecturers' signatures. Then I popped the forms in the post recorded delivery and waited. Within a week I had a reply and was called for an interview at Liverpool University.

I'd deliberately applied to universities close to home. Some people don't have a problem with distance, they're able to fly the nest with ease, but home is where my heart has always been. People sometimes make you feel ashamed of admitting that, but I've always loved being around my family.

Astonishingly, following my interview, I was given an unconditional offer at Liverpool University for a place on a combined honours degree. I chose Drama and Theatre Studies, American Studies and Information Technology, or IT as it's called in the business (what business?). Now all I had to do was make it past the education board with no qualifications.

The Sunday night I left home was heartbreaking. I had all of my worldly goods crammed into the back of my Uncle Tony's trusty Sierra including a 12-tog duvet, six bottles of Vimto and my black-and-white portable telly. I felt like a contestant on
The Generation Game.

My Uncle Tony couldn't see out of his back window,
the car was packed that tight. I still felt sick to my stomach as we headed down the East Lancs in silence. I was about to pass a point of no return for the first time in my life and everybody in that silent car knew it. Except my Uncle Tony, who just kept slagging off all the tracks they were playing on the Top 40 countdown: 'There's no melody anymore, it's just drumming'.

I carried my gear up the stairs to my halls of residence and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of Dettol and marijuana. I was paying fifty-two quid a week and I'd still got to design my own nameplate for my door in felt tip. Quietly we said our goodbyes and I remember bursting into tears as the Sierra turned the corner and drove off into the night.

I must have sobbed myself to sleep and then a few hours later I was woken up by the sound of an electric guitar reverberating through the paper-thin ceiling above me. I stared at my official 'Gladiators' alarm clock. it was twenty past two in the morning.

Slowly I staggered up a staircase with my 12-tog draped round me and hammered on the door of the culprit. The noise subsided and the door was opened by a tall blond lad wearing a bandanna.

'Rock 'n' roll, dude,' he roared into my face. 'My name's Brad, I'm from Salisbury, come into my crib and smoke some blow.'

I scanned his room. He had a lava lamp and a poster on his wall with the lyrics from 'Stairway to Heaven'.

'I can't,
dude,'
I said, 'and unless you fancy going up the stairway to heaven tonight I suggest you unplug your guitar and go to sleep before I wrap it round your neck.' I really didn't want to be there. Who was I trying to kid? This student life wasn't for me.

Shattered, the next morning I made my way over to the main hall for enrolment. It was make or break time. I had correspondence from my local education authority and my passport as proof of ID. The only thing I didn't have was any proof of my qualifications (which I obviously didn't have as they only existed in my fabricated world of lies and deceit). I reached the enrolment clerk. Pleasantly, she took all my details and that was it, she never asked to see any proof of anything. I was so completely thrown for a second that I almost offered to show them to her like a fool. I didn't though. I might be dumb but I'm not stupid.

I approached a lecturer and asked him what time lessons started, to which he replied 'next week'.

'Next week?' I said. 'What are we supposed to do until then?'

'Get to know your fellow students,' he said, 'settle in and enjoy Freshers' Week, familiarise yourself with your Student Union rep . . .'

I left him jabbering on because I was off. I ran straight out to the main road, got a bus to Lime Street station and caught the first train back home.

I rang my mum up from the payphone at the top of the street.

'Hello,' she said. 'Hello,' I said. The silence was painful and stilted.

'So, are you settling in?'

'Yeah, not so bad. I miss home. What are you having for tea?'

'It's Monday, your favourite: chicken Kiev, chips, beans and a fried egg. What are you having?'

'Oh, I might have a walk round to the university refectory, see if there's anything left and see if I can make some friends, you know. Anyway I'll give you another call tomorrow.'

I hung up and then I legged it two hundred yards round the corner to our house and banged on the front door – she must have thought it was the bailiffs again. Opening the door she saw me stood on the front street beaming like an idiot. We hugged for what seemed liked for ever. It was good to be back and we both had to laugh when we realised I'd only been gone for twenty-four hours.