There was me and about eight others out of a year of sixty kids that didn’t go to Paris. So what did the school make us do while everyone else was enjoying the Arc de Triomphe and eating freshly baked pain au chocolat? We had to create a sixty-page project on France. Bit cruel when I look back now, sitting there in class with worksheets, having to cut out pictures of the Eiffel Tower and Pritt-Stick them onto the page while the pissed-off teacher who didn’t get to go on the trip moaned about how the other kids and teachers will now be on top of the real Eiffel Tower taking in breathtakingly beautiful 360-degree panorama views of all Paris. I honestly didn’t mind; my mam every night that week made me and my dad meals like mince and dumplings but with a French twist (baguette and butter on the side) while we watched reruns of Crystal Maze and Gladiators. She’d even got some croissants in for my breakfast. So I didn’t feel like I was missing out.
The greatest school trip I ever went on was when I was ten years old and we went to Eden Camp. Now Eden Camp occupies a former Second World War prisoner-of-war camp of thirty-three huts. This camp is full to the brim of old war memorabilia, ration books, Nazi uniforms and images of Hitler. Scarlett, how is this your favourite school trip? Well, it was at Eden Camp, surrounded by all the horror of the Nazis, where I had my first ever kiss. How romantic, I hear you cry.
The teacher had forced the class to sit girl/boy on the coach to stop us all from messing around. I was put next to Christopher Minns. He wasn’t the coolest of kids but he was still quite popular. He was well liked due to his vast collection of shiny Pokémon cards that he would swap. It’s my first ever recollection of actually sitting and chatting to a boy for more than five minutes, and even if it was forced, I felt like it was fate. Christopher was just lovely; he had shaved brown hair, a tan and everybody said he looked like a young Mr Bean (not Sean Bean, the actual Mr Bean as portrayed by Rowan Atkinson).
We chatted for the full hour and a half of the journey about the important stuff in life – what we liked to watch on TV, our favourite takeaway, etc. We even shared a dislike of a couple of people in our class (nothing brings people closer together than the shared dislike of another human). I found out he loved Goosebumps as much as me, and he had been to see Steps in concert too with his little sister. He showed me this trick where he turned his eyelids inside out and I showed him my trick of saying the alphabet backwards really fast. This was my first experience of a date and I was loving it. At one point I remember I found myself laughing at jokes he was telling, even though they weren’t funny. What had I become?
The coach pulled up to Eden Camp and I knew that was our relationship over; he would scoot off to his friends and I’d tag along with Rosie and her mates again. But no, he asked if he could be my partner around Eden Camp. I’d never felt this feeling before. I could hear my heart beat and had a sudden urge to give him a cuddle. But I didn’t, I kept my cool. ‘Sure, I’ll be your partner.’
As we walked around I gave Christopher Minns some insightful extra facts that weren’t on the leaflet we had been handed. I was trying to be cute. ‘Did you know, Christopher, that during rationing, adults weren’t even allowed a real-life egg, just one packet of dried eggs every month?’
‘You are so clever, Scarlett,’ he said, then he mumbled these beautiful words that I shall never forget: ‘I love how you have your hair like Pippi Longstocking in those plaits.’ With that, in bunker number three, surrounded by old newspaper clippings with the creepy ambience of wartime music playing in the background, he kissed me on the cheek. I wanted to scream, I couldn’t believe it. A boy liked me, for me. My face flushed crimson and we held hands (well at least whenever the teacher wasn’t looking) for the rest of the day.
That night at home, lying in bed, I started planning our wedding and wondering if I’d miss being a Moffatt now I was going to be Scarlett Minns. On the plus, at least I’d get to keep the same initials – SM. I named the three dogs that Christopher and I would have: Rosie, Jim and Rag Doll. I imagined our mansion (we could afford this as Christopher would find a rare shiny Pokémon card and it would be worth millions).
Sadly that illusion was shattered the next day at school when he completely ignored me. It was just a school trip romance, apparently. I was gutted but it did give me that confidence boost I needed to keep on just being me. About a week later he had a new relationship (the dickhead). In fact, he started going out with none other than Stacey Vaughn (yep, the bitch that stole the role of Mary away from me) but I’m not bitter. In the words of RuPaul:
‘Don’t get bitter, just get better.’
Chapter Three
IF YOU LIKE PIÑA COLADAS AND GETTING CAUGHT IN THE RAIN
There’s no tooth fairy in Spain – when Spanish children lose a tooth, they put it under their pillow and a small mouse called Ratoncito Pérez comes to collect it and leaves a small gift or money in its place.
Dolphins and whales have belly buttons (weird I know, but not weirder than the fact that goldfish have teeth in their throats).
James Blunt recorded his first album while living with Carrie Fisher. ‘Goodbye My Lover’ was recorded in her bathroom!
Even though I loved school, I loved the six weeks off even more, because it meant me and the family would be going on our jolly holidays. These have varied through the years from camping out, to caravan parks, to bathing on the sunny beaches of Europe. Wherever we would go, despite being slightly shy, I would partake in whatever kids’ club was on offer. I would make a new best friend, adopt whatever accent they had (Liverpudlian, Cockney, even Swiss) and pack my case at the end of the holiday with endless certificates and bits of shite arts and crafts I had made.
The first ever holiday I can properly remember snippets of was a week in Spain – Salou to be exact. I got my new passport with a photo that made me look like I had an abnormally large head. The date of issue was July 1998, so I was only seven. My mam told me to pack a little backpack as she packed the big cases for the plane (when you’re seven, a two-and-a-half-hour flight sounds like forever). Of course I packed my Noddy toy, my Tamagotchi (otherwise she would die and to me she was my child), a pack of Pokémon cards in case I bumped into anyone who wanted to do some swaps and give me a shiny, my Aesop’s Fables book and a colouring book and pencils my mam had bought for me at WHSmith.
‘Should we take the crocodile-shaped lilo this year? I can go in the attic and bring it down!’ my dad shouted down the stairs.
‘No, they’re only about ten pesetas, Mark, stop being tight. What did you even bring it back for anyway? We haven’t got space for a bloody crocodile in the case, we can only just fit the bloody toiletries in here.’
‘It was just an idea. ’Ere, don’t forget that little list of people that want fags bringing back. Right, Scarlett, I’ll take you up to bed in a little bit, kid, when you’ve finished packing your boot bag.’
‘Dad, I’m not being funny but the street lights aren’t even on. The Bill hasn’t even been on the telly yet.’
‘We all need to go to sleep super early because the taxi is booked for three in the morning to get to the airport. You don’t want to be tired on the first day of your holidays, do you?’
I lay there awake, just staring at the animal wallpaper on my walls with the same feeling I had on Christmas Eve. I kept picturing all the things I would be doing on my jollies. Paddling around the sea with my little mermaid armbands on (I’ve never been a strong swimmer, as some of you would have seen when I was in I’m a Celebrity and I had to be rescued by Larry Lamb – but I’ll come back to that disaster later). Trying to beat all the other kids’ sandcastles with my dad and digging a hole big enough for me to stand in. Getting up super early so we could save a sun lounger before all the Germans got the best ones. Being allowed to eat a whole share bag of Cheetos to myself in one sitting. I couldn’t wait.
The morning came and I put on the outfit that was laid out, having been specifically bought for travelling purposes: new Tammy Girl T-shirt, leggings and Daz white tra
iners. I was ready! At the airport we bought tubes of Pringles, chocolates and sweets in fear that we wouldn’t see English food for another week. I also managed to persuade my mam to get me an Art Attack magazine at duty free because it had a free little notepad with it.
‘Have we definitely got everything, Mark?’
‘Yep.’
‘Money, tickets, house keys and passports?’
‘Here’s the passports. You have the money and everything.’
‘Bloody Nora, look at my passport picture. Do I really look like that, Mark? Like is that my actual face? I hope border control at least do a double-take, I look like a criminal on that.’
Sitting on the plane (and thanking the Lord I was short as it meant I actually had leg room), I was ready for the adventure ahead, trying to listen to the safety information – although there’s always that one family who are chatting so loud, all in matching tracksuits. I don’t know why I brought loads of stuff to do on the plane because as soon as we were in the air I fell straight asleep until touchdown when that same family woke me up by clapping and cheering because we had landed safely.
‘Phew, the heat hits you like a brick wall. It’s too hot for me, this, far too hot, I’m melting, I think the soles of my shoes are actually melting,’ I said as soon as we got off the plane. ‘Dad, do you think you could fry eggs on this floor?’
‘Woah, deffo kid.’
‘Behave, you two. We have only just got off the plane. It’s 29 degrees, we’re hardly at boiling point.’
We had a whole fortnight of the Spanish sun ahead of us and my nanny and grandad were meeting us there on the second week, which I was super excited for. This all-inclusive thing was pretty new and we all wanted to take advantage of it. To be honest, me and my dad saw it as more of a challenge than a benefit and over the course of the holiday my dad sickened himself with about twenty tubs of the ‘free’ ice cream that tasted more like mousse.
Being a beach babe and having a little cheeky wee in the sea.
When I wasn’t eating ice cream I would be having fun in the kids’ club, which was run by a woman called Grace who had skin like leather and always had a fag in her hand. We would be let loose on the karaoke, have ping-pong championships and make pictures using lots of glue and pipe cleaners. I had a little friendship gang at kids’ club. There were two Swedish brothers who could speak a little English: Douglas, which I pronounced as ‘Dog-less’, and Dennis, which I pronounced as ‘Dean-ish’. There was also Rebecca who was a Yam Yam from the Black Country near Birmingham and Clare from Glasgow (whose name I insisted was pronounced ‘Clear’). So by the end of the day I had a very mixed accent.
‘Where am yam gewwin tonight, Scarlett?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Din-er, think we are staying in the hotel, Rebecca, coz we don’t have to pay for stuff here and there’s gonna be the mini disco and a man who comes and you can have a picture took with his big snake and flamenco dancers.’
‘Gonnae no dae that, I don’t like snakes,’ said Clare.
‘Oh I love snakes, the bigger the better, Clear. Oh well, if I don’t see you all later I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.’ I smiled.
As I skipped back to the sun loungers where my mam was baking and my dad, despite being sat in the shade all day, was slowly going crimson, I was so excited for our first night out. We went back to our room to get ready. Now me and my mam have naturally curly hair anyway but on holiday it is something else. We are like bloody Crystal Tipps. Doesn’t matter how many times you go on holiday you never get used to using a hair dryer in blazing heat – it is sickening, like I actually have a mini sick while I do it. But I managed to do it then I popped one of my new dresses on and sprayed myself with my mam’s Angel perfume.
The mini disco always started the same, with some Spanish song which no one understood and which probably meant something very inappropriate as the one word you could understand in it was ‘sexy’, but it had a kiddy dance to go with it so it’s all good. Then the competitions would start where you could win a certificate and a cocktail for your parent, even though all the cocktails were free anyway as it was all-inclusive (they’d get round this by bunging a sparkler and a fancy straw in it and pretending they’d used the top-shelf spirits). The host – whose stage name was Mario – explained the first event. Mario was tantastic and super shiny, his hair gelled into spikes, and he always had his shirt undone to his belly button. In a nutshell he resembled a really basic value Ricky Martin, always smiling and hanging around all the mams, especially the single mams.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, give us a cheer if it’s your first night joining us for the mini disco. Right, for those who cheered let me explain, I am going to go around the children and ask their name, where they come from, what they want to be when they’re older and their funniest joke. They all get a certificate for taking part and the winner wins a cocktail for their mummy.’
I still remember the look on everybody’s face when the first little boy went up to the mic. ‘My name’s Robert, I’m from England. I want to be a footie player when I grow up and play for Man United.’ I mean some people cheered and some people actually booed a six-year-old child because he mentioned Man U.
‘And can you tell us your funniest joke, Robert?’
‘What did the big dog say to the little dog?’
‘I don’t know, what did the big dog say to the little dog?’ The audience waited in anticipation and Rob’s parents started winding the disposable camera up ready to take a picture.
‘FUCK OFF!’
‘Right, someone come and collect Robert from the stage please and wash his mouth out with soap and water.’
I wasn’t as nervous about telling my joke now. ‘Hi, I’m Scarlett Moffatt, I live in County Durham and I want to be a bus driver when I’m older, but only the double-decker ones.’ I was actually obsessed with wanting to be a bus driver, which is ironic as I’ve taken my driving test four times now and have failed every time. I once failed because I stopped that close to a school bus we had to wait ten minutes for all the kids to get on the bus because I couldn’t go around it.
‘And can you tell us your funniest joke, Charlotte?’
‘It’s Scarlett!’ I always get called Charlotte even though it’s not my name at all. It’s like calling someone Shaniqua when their name is Siân.
‘Two cannibals start eating a clown. One of the cannibals says to the other, “Does this taste funny to you?”’ I mean none of the kids laughed but the host loved it.
‘Good one, Charlotte, can you tell us another?’ I was put on the spot and didn’t want to waste my thinking space on correcting him about my name. So I did what most kids do and just made up a joke.
‘What did the pirate say on his hundredth birthday? Aye Matey.’ And that was the joke that won my mam and dad two Sex on the Beaches. I don’t know how my dad kept it down to be honest, as he was drinking pint glasses of Baileys – well, the Spanish version which is called Willies. I think he was only drinking them so my mam had to ask for a large Willy every time she went to the bar.
Eventually the day arrived when my nanny and grandad were getting to our hotel. They were getting in at 7 p.m. that night so my mam and dad decided we should spend the day at the beach as nanny isn’t keen on beaches (she says they’re too sandy). After eating my own bodyweight in cakes and random meats from the breakfast buffet we decided to head to the beach. The hotel staff were so cute and gave us packed lunches to take with us (not to be confused with a lunch box, which is a noun meaning a container used to help fruit get out of the house for the day and return safely for the afternoon). No, this was a brown paper bag containing a ham-and-cheese baguette, packet of crisps and a bottle of tepid water.
There was a huge bouncy castle on the beach. ‘Dad, please can I go on it? It’s only five potato peasant things.’
‘Aye, go on then.’
Now we should have noticed it was mostly Spanish kids on the castle, Spanish kids who had the sense to have
socks on. I was crying through the fun, the plastic was that hot. I ended up blistering my feet and couldn’t even wear jelly shoes without wincing. So after that I just lay on my sun lounger in the shade looking after my Tamagotchi.
My dad went off on one of his walks while my mam sunbathed and he came back with some brochures about a glass-bottom boat experience. Not just any glass-bottom boat but one that takes you to see a shipwreck. This instantly cheered me and my sore feet up but Mam took a bit of persuading.
‘Mark, what shipwrecks have there been here really?’
‘Ah, come on Betty, even if we don’t see that we will see some beautiful fish, it’ll be amazing.’
‘I can’t stand fish and it’s perfect tan weather. There’s not a cloud in the sky. I haven’t just got boob sweat, I’ve got “humidititties”. Is there a place I can sunbathe on there?’
‘Probably, come on, life is for experiencing new things.’
‘What will I be able to see on this glass boat thing?’
‘Dolphins, maybe even a whale, come on.’
‘All right then, it could be fun, you’ve won.’
We must have only been on the boat for five minutes and my dad turned green. I don’t mean a hint of green, I mean Hulk’s second cousin once removed green. ‘I genuinely think I’m having a heart attack, I’m going to be sick,’ my dad cried.
Me and my mam rushed to get the captain. ‘He has a touch of sea sickness, tell him to hang his head over the side if he feels like he is going to be sick,’ he said.
‘It is not sea sickness. I’m a bloke, I don’t get sea sickness, I’m having an actual heart attack.’ We stayed by my dad’s side while he swayed side to side moaning about what a shit idea it was to come on a glass-bottom boat, whilst everyone else marvelled at the beautiful fish and children as young as three skipped along the deck. When we finally arrived to land, suddenly my dad’s ‘heart attack’ stopped. We still have a laugh about this and when he goes to have a bath we tell him to be careful he doesn’t get sea sickness.
Me Life Story Page 3
