Painting the Beauty Queens Orange - Extract 3

My day, January 1st 1976 (remember to underline all headings neatly with a ruler and preferably in a different colour)1

My happy new year began about 3 o’clock in the morning when I was woken by a loud hammering on the front door. No one else seemed to even notice the racket or even care that Mrs W next door might be frightened. I’m not speaking to her since she shouted at me for breaking her back window and it was an accident. My throw went a bit wrong and then the stupid dog wouldn’t shut up barking when she came running out and yelling at me. I paid for it as well but she’s still a bit funny with us, said the log frightened her, how does she think I felt? I hate it when people shout at me because I do try most of the time but not with my stupid brother and sister, and they’re always shouting at me. there’s a lot of shouting in this house, Phoebe’s is so quiet compared with ours, it’s not normal.2

Carol was snoring as usual, nothing doing from the parents at all so that left me. I didn’t particularly want to face whatever it was, though I had an idea who it might be as his door was open and it’s always closed when he’s in there. Phoebe and I sneaked in there once and had a rifle through his books. We spent ages laughing at the one with those drawings of that hairy man with the beard who wasn’t wearing any clothes. He was doing all sorts of things to that ugly woman, even kissing bits of her. I felt quite sick because he was so ugly but Phoebe said that’s what adults do to each other sometimes when they get a bit carried away. Mum says it’s usually after too many port and lemons. They must all be double jointed to do what that ugly man was doing, and I bet his beard scratches. Gross.3

I trotted down the stairs seeing as no one else could be bothered and of course it was my charming brother legless and just about hanging on the doorknob and dribbling. He had some stupid triangle hat balanced on his head and one of those party blowers that makes a raspberry noise when you blow into it. He kept blowing it in my face and laughing. We don’t talk much, he usually hits me more than anything else but mum lets him, she says it saves her the bother. I told him he was drunk but he just blew that thing at me and swore, like he usually does and pushed me out of the way. The noise must have woke the parents because mum appeared at the top of the stairs and starting shouting at him to get inside but he just started singing ‘I am sailing’. I didn’t know what to do until mum said to fetch dad, but when I came back he was running round the front garden pretending he was Rod Stewart. And they all think he’s clever because he’s at college.4

Even when dad got up and started shouting at him he carried on ‘stormy waters, to be near you to be free.’ I really hate that song though Aunty Em loves it and then the dog escaped and joined in barking the chorus. It was when he set off down the road waving his trousers in the air and still singing I think dad had enough and rugby tackled him. I was so embarrassed, it’s hardly a memory I can put into my best selling autobiography when I’m the highest paid legal mind in the country now is it? They had a bit of a wrestle, all you could see were blue and brown striped pyjamas and red undies waving up and down before he finally shut up. Carol was still snoring her head off, I could see Boots 17 emerald green shimmer still stuck to her eyes. 5

So that was how my 1976 started, Rod Stewart songs from my drunken brother and my father wrestling with his only son as the neighbours started opening their windows. I’m sure I could hear all the tuts and them saying ‘Oh it’s those Barkers again’. We can’t help it if we’re the only ones in the road who’re under ninety or go to school. Well that’s only me now Carol’s learning to ruin other people’s hair as well as her own now.6

They wouldn’t even let me stay up and have a coke and it was me who’d actually bothered to get up and let the eejit in (Aunty Rosie’s favourite word). Oh no, I had to get back up those stairs and crawl back into bed and listen to Carol grunting. I could hear mum though, going on and on. ‘Dave, you’ll have to apologise to everyone tomorrow,’ she kept saying but he said they wouldn’t mind that much, that it was New Year anyway and nobody had to get up for work in the morning so there wasn’t any real harm done and it probably gave the pensioners a laugh. I couldn’t even put the light on to finish my last William book in case I woke Carol, not that a bomb would wake her really. She sleeps until nearly three every Sunday but I have to get up and go to Church with Grandad, no one else does. It’s not fair.7

Today was no different, so I’ve had to take my diary into the front room as I don’t want anyone reading it and she snored until we’d finished lunch. We didn’t see him until we’d washed up and he’s sulking with everyone apart from mum of course. They have their ‘special bond’ because he’s the only boy and I’m just the accident I suppose which explains why they’re so much older than me. he’s over ten years older than me and she’s about eight and a half, no wonder they don’t like me. Can’t say I like them either, anyway when I’m a famous barrister they’ll want to know me but I’ll choose if I want to speak to them or not. I won’t forget all the name calling and teasing. I like having red hair, it makes me stand out and at least I haven’t got spots and greasy hair. And I don’t roll home drunk and show the family up with my rotten singing, he could have sung something decent like Bohemian Rhapsody (still Number 1 after five weeks) it’s an amazing song. I like all the opera bits but the electric bit’s near the end’s a bit noisy. I wanted to watch the Queen live at Hammersmith Odeon concert they showed on tv on Christmas Eve, but mum sent me to bed with a Bobby Brewster book because she wanted to watch something on BBC1 not long haired men parading round in shiny white outfits. Didn’t matter when dad came rolling in from the pub with some of his mates and woke me up, and they still expect me to believe in Santa. What am I? A child? I know it’s them stuffing things into a pillow case, I’ve heard them arguing about what to put at the bottom in case it gets squashed. They gave me my last doll this year and a Casio calculator and digital watch, Timex of course, red strap with holes cut into it. I’ll wear it when I go back to school, don’t really need it now. The doll’s still in her box and she can stay there, I’m too old for baby dolls in blue bonnets and white bootees, I wanted the complete William series but they didn’t bother with that, too much like hard work probably. Mum said I should try and read other things because I’m getting too old for Just William, and she read him when she was little. I clocked the dates at the front of my library book and it did say 1922, that’s way before mum was even born and she’s not even that young, she’s much older than Phoebe’s mum, she’s only about 30. Mum’s ancient, well she must be, Paul’s 20 odd.8

There was nothing on telly at all, never is really, usual film all afternoon and so I spent most of it out of the way writing this. Watched Disney Time just before tea, they showed bits of Mary Poppins and the Jungle Book. I haven’t really seen many Disney films, mum doesn’t like the pictures and I can’t go on my own. Carol took me to see the Aristocats once but we missed it and ended up watching a film about Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. They cut her head off at the end and there was a little girl with red hair left walking on her own. I found out later that was Queen Elizabeth 1st, I didn’t know when I was little she had red hair or that Anne Boleyn was her mum. Of course I do now, I was only about five or six then, I was still reading easy books, well Enid Blyton’s Mr Meddle’s Muddles, the Wishing Chair and the Folk of the Faraway Tree. They gave me a doll for my sixth birthday and she had long dark hair, her head falls off so I called her Anne Boleyn. Mum’s calling now, I’d better go.9

Later: in bed10

Carol’s gone round to her friend Chloe’s and she’s staying overnight so I can finish my last bit of selection box chocolate in peace and eat all her Revels as well. They’re all downstairs watching some film, sent me to bed early because they don’t think it’s suitable for me, but I was glad to go and I’m tired. At least I won’t be woken at 3am by Rod Stewart because Carol doesn’t drink that much and she isn’t coming home. She and Chloe are going into town for the sales tomorrow, more things for me to try on when she’s out. I don’t know why she fusses when I try her coral nail varnish, it’s not even that nice, makes my fingers look like they’ve been dipped in blood. Yuk.11

I’m doing well on my resolutions, I’ve only eaten a Curly Wurly and one bag of Revels, left my fingers alone and ignored my brother. He’s grunting at everyone even when mum fusses over him, all he can do is make funny noises. They’re sort of gurgles and he keeps locking himself in the bathroom to be sick and stink the place out. I’m glad we’ve got the showeroom off the kitchen, at least I can go to the loo in peace and have a read.12

Finished my last library book, William and the Pop Singers. I think Richmal Crompton was trying to make him too modern. It’s not as good as William’s Crowded Hours and the other early ones like Sweet William. Wish we had maids and a cook, I’m fed up of having to lay the table and help put the washing up away. I even have to tidy my room and Carol doesn’t pick anything up. I’m going to read a book I found about Oliver Cromwell, funny how Charles 1st had long hair, wonder if dad would have called his cavaliers long haired yobbos as well? I saw a picture of Shakespeare and he had an earring like David Essex. You don’t hear people criticising Shakespeare or Charles 1st do you? they probably thought different in those days, I wish I lived then, I like the dresses and crowns. Always wanted to wear a dress like Anne Boleyn, but I’d rather keep my head, anyway I’m writing more than Anne Frank now. This will probably turn into my autobiography if I’m not careful and not a diary. We learnt all about the differences between biographies and autobiographies last term. Auto means self, bio means life and graph means writing. So a biography is life writing and an autobiography is self life writing, it’s easy to work out. Perhaps I could write a biography about Anne Boleyn one day because my autobiography so far would be really boring, my life’s so dull, nothing ever happens. When I write a best selling autobiography as a world famous barrister I’ll have to make bits up to make it more exciting, it’s not quite the same as lying is it? and I’ll have to make sure I don’t put much in about my shameful brother and sister, all they do is sleep, argue and play loud music all day. He does have a Queen lp, it’s called A Night at the Opera and it’s the one with Bohemian Rhapsody on it. I’ll have to sneak in and play it on headphones next time he goes out, getting legless again probably.13

Mum’s coming up the stairs so I’d better finish and start reading about Oliver Cromwell before she puts my light out. Goodnight diary, I expect I’ll write much more tomorrow, I’ve hardly written anything today.