Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [50]
‘No, it’s me, Michael.’
‘Hi, Michael, how are you?’
‘I’ve got a bit of an embarrassing problem, and I don’t know who to talk to. Can you talk privately?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, what is it?’ Sam said.
‘I can’t stop wanking,’ I confessed.
‘Me neither. So what?’ said Sam, as if it was no big deal.
‘I don’t think you quite understand, Sam, I literally cannot stop wanking. I wank all day long,’ I continued.
‘Michael, it’s normal. Don’t worry. It’s natural. Everyone’s doing it, whether they admit it or not,’ Sam reassured.
‘OK,’ I said, starting to feel a bit better. ‘But I think I’m doing it more than anyone else. Like when we have swimming at school, I’m the only one wanking in the changing rooms.’
‘You wank in the changing room! When you’re changing for swimming!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘What? Like in the loo, while everyone else is changing?’
‘Yeah,’ I admitted. ‘And also when I’m walking around,’ I continued, ‘and in the pool.’
‘You wank while you’re walking around! You wank in the pool!’ Sam said, revolted.
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Sam. I can’t stop. I’m wanking right now.’
Sam hung up.
My problem only lasted a couple more days before (I’ll be delicate) there was an eruption. All on its own, untouched by me. It’s how the story of Adam and Eve would have been if there was no Eve. Suddenly it all made sense. My embarrassing mistake was realized, and I am proud to say I haven’t masturbated since (this may not be true).
As you can imagine, home life was turning into a disaster. I was hormonal, snappy and ugly. For some reason, rebelling against your parents is part of growing up. Your parents give you life, feed you and clothe you, and then you turn on them in your teens. I would come home from school with my tie half undone, my shirt hanging out of my trousers and my skin-tinted Clearasil smudged on my face.
‘Hello, darling, how was school today?’ Mum would ask.
‘Fuck off, I hate you, I hate you!’ I would scream before running upstairs to my bedroom and slamming the door behind me.
I was a nightmare to live with. I committed all the domestic teenage crimes. My mother constantly accused me of ‘treating the place like it was a hotel’ because I would never tidy my room, I’d leave my clothes on the bathroom floor and steal her towels when I went out.
I was a repeat offender at eating without getting a plate. I would stand at the fridge, grazing on whatever took my fancy, grabbing clumps of ham and dipping them in the mayonnaise jar.
‘Michael! What are you doing? Get a plate if you want to eat something,’ my mum would demand as she walked into the kitchen.
‘Fuck off, I hate you, I hate you!’ I would scream as little bits of mayonnaisey ham spluttered on her face, before I ran upstairs to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.
I feel I need to update you on the relationship between my mother and Steve. While I was skipping my guitar lessons at Arnold House, bouncing around on the Metropolitan Line and walking around with an erection, they were married, and my mum had been pushing out baby boys at an alarming rate. I have three brothers, Nicholas, Thomas and Andre. Technically they are half brothers, so officially I have one and a half brothers. They were like Russian dolls. Not because they were smaller than each other and looked alike, but because they all look like fat Russian girls. That’s a joke. They were probably the best part of my teenage life, just like my kids are the best part of my life now. It’s wonderful to have innocent new people crawling and toddling around.
Me and Lucy with our little brothers Nicholas and Thomas in our Golders Green garden.
I apologize particularly to Steve for my behaviour during these years. If a teenager rebels against their parents, I can tell you, rebellion goes up a notch with a step-parent. Steve made an enormous effort with me, but it was no use, I could barely look at him. Before puberty Steve was a cool bonus dad, resisting my stomach punches and winning at my sports day. Now he was just this bloke living with us, in my