Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [32]
She brought American culture into my life for the first time. I say ‘culture’; I mean ‘food’. Holly introduced us children to a standard of eating that would have had Jamie Oliver pressing charges. ‘Jiffy Pop’ was a highlight; this was basically a saucepan-shaped package that you heated on the hob until it created a big aluminium (a word she couldn’t pronounce) balloon filled with popcorn. ‘Sloppy Joes’ were a lowlight; these were hamburger buns covered in a sort of super-sweet Bolognese sauce. I don’t know who ‘Sloppy Joe’ was, but he was almost certainly clinically obese, and so would Lucy and I have been if our dad had won custody. In general, Lucy and I loved Holly’s weekend cooking, and her hot chocolate is the best I’ve ever tasted.
This split lifestyle that Lucy and I were leading had some major perks. My dad was definitely trying to make up for his enforced absence by spoiling us. He bought us top-of-the-range BMXs to explore the Hertfordshire countryside. My metallic blue Raleigh Burner was the love of my life thus far. Lucy and I were kitted out with all the latest cycling accessories: helmets, gloves, knee and elbow pads, flashing lights and sirens. We looked like something from outer space. I actually think some of the local farmers reported alien sightings.
My dad was certainly flush with cash at this point, and apart from our lavish divorce-inspired gifts he purchased himself a gorgeous silver BMW 635 CSI. I don’t know what the ‘CSI’ stood for, but it was top of the range and had something to do with making it go faster – either that or the previous owner was murdered in it. The major excitement about his new car was that it had a phone in it. Nowadays, everyone has a phone on them all the time. But in 1984 it was tremendously state of the art. People saw car phones as the future of technology (the Carphone Warehouse did, but they now sell as many car phones as Blockbuster Video sells videos).
My dad’s car phone was the envy of all my friends, and all his friends for that matter. It was long and sleek and sat proudly next to the handbrake. Unfortunately, it was also about the same size as the handbrake, which led to dangerous mishaps. When the phone rang, he would pick up the handbrake by mistake, sending the car into a spin. Or he would stop on a hill, reach for the handbrake, but pick up the phone by mistake and roll into the car behind. The phone itself barely had a signal, and when he got one the conversation would only last long enough for him to say he was in the car. ‘Hi, I’m in the car, I’m on the car pho– Hello?’ It was basically a device for informing people he was driving.
My sister and I loved his BMW 6-Series. On a Friday afternoon, Daddy would pick us up from school in his magnificent sports saloon. We would hurtle up the M1 motorway at law-breaking speeds. Lucy and I would pick cars ahead of us to overtake while I would be shouting out our speed, ‘116, 117 … 120 miles an hour!’ It’s only looking back that I realize just how dangerous this was, not to mention highly illegal. I know it sounds strange, but our dad was using the car to bond with us. He was desperate. He had lost his kids for five days of the week, and he had to make up ground, at 120 miles per hour. He had to cram a lot into his two days and wanted to make us happy. So if that involved expensive presents and treating the motorway like a Grand Prix track, so be it.
My father and me in his BMW 635 CSI. As much as I loved his car, notice my subtle hints for an upgrade.
The BMW 6-Series happened to be my mum’s dream car. She had a 3-Series, but every time we drove past a 6-Series, she would state her intent: ‘I love that car, I want one.’ She likes cars, my mum. In general, she’s a pretty good driver, despite the lack of seat belt and occasional magazine-reading. Where her driving falls