Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [2]
The good news is I think there’s more than enough in my patchy memory for the book. Whatever the French for ‘patchy memories’ is, that’s what this book is. So where better to start than with my earliest memory? I was at a pre-school called Stepping Stones in North London in a class called the Dolphins. I must have been about four years old. I remember it being some kind of music group. We were all in a circle with instruments. I may have had a xylophone, but I can’t be sure. What I do remember is that there was the distinct smell of shit in the room. At this age kids are toilet-trained, so whereas only a couple years previously at nursery or playgroup the smell of shit was a given, in this environment it was unwelcome.
The simple fact was, a four-year-old kid had taken a shit in his or her little pants. It wasn’t me. I have never pooed my pants, although as this was my earliest memory, I can’t be sure. I remember trying to ignore the smell of shit and just get on with what I was doing, much like being on the top deck of a night bus.
‘I smell poo,’ said the teacher. Cue hysterical giggling. ‘Please tell me if you think it might be you. You’re not in trouble.’
Nobody responded. A chubby boy holding a triangle looked slightly guilty to me. A blonde girl with a bongo also looked a bit sheepish.
The teacher enquired again. No response. A third time she asked. You could cut the pungent atmosphere with some safety scissors.
Still nobody came clean about their dirty little secret. Then the teacher announced something that I think is the reason I remember this moment still to this day. She said that if nobody would own up, then everyone must, in turn, pull their pants down to prove it.
Horror. I couldn’t believe this. How humiliating. In fact the thought of it nearly made me shit myself. A Chinese kid gasped and dropped his tambourine. One by one, around the circle, we had to stand up and reveal our bottoms to the music group. The tension may have damaged me for life. I remember this unbearable swelling of fear as my turn approached. I frantically scanned the room for the crapping culprit. I ruled out the teacher, although I had my doubts about the elderly woman on the piano. I pinned my hopes on this kid who had a permanently solidified snotty nose. I think everyone can recall the kid in their class at pre-school with a permanently solidified snotty nose. Well, my class had one. He was about four kids to my right, and I prayed it wasn’t just the nose area he’d let himself down in.
My prime suspect stood up, seemingly in slow motion, and burst into tears. It WAS him! Thank God. I was saved, but the experience has been permanently etched on my mind. Incidentally, if you were in that circle and were one of the kids who had to pull their pants down, please get in touch. I’d love to know how your life turned out.
It is odd how we remember scenes from our childhood at random. Your first few years are, of course, a total blank. I’ve got two sons, who are four years and one year old, and they aren’t going to remember any of their lives so far. I was going to take them to a museum today. Why bother? I might just send them to their rooms until they’re old enough to remember some of this effort I’m putting in.
So everything prior to Poo-gate is a mystery to me. I have to rely on