Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [56]
‘Mum?’ I asked within moments of arriving back. ‘Can Sam and I go to the cinema tonight?’
‘Sure. What’s on? Do you want me to drive you?’ helpfully asked my mum, forever trying to be nice to her bolshie, hormonal sixteen-year-old.
‘No, thanks, we’ll take the Tube,’ I said.
The word ‘thanks’ was a mistake. I don’t think I’d used it since the first hair appeared under my left armpit. She knew something was up.
‘It’s quite a long film, so we might be home quite late, please.’
Please? What was wrong with me? I was completely malfunctioning. That ‘please’ didn’t even really fit into the sentence.
‘What time?’ my mum asked sceptically.
‘I don’t know, midnight, maybe later,’ I said, pushing my luck.
‘Michael, you have to be home by eleven. That’s the rule. That’s more than enough time to see a film, and if it isn’t, see another one. I know you’re up to something, so whatever it is, be back here by eleven o’clock.’
‘Fuck off, I hate you, I hate you!’ I screamed before running upstairs to my bedroom and slamming the door behind me.
Sam and I plotted our evening. It takes forty-five minutes to get back home from the King’s Road, so we would have to leave the club at 10.15 p.m., which leaves us with one hour and fifteen minutes of clubbing time. We’ll have to make them count. I perused my wardrobe. What to wear? What will make beautiful King’s Road chicks fall at my feet?
I knew nothing about fashion. I still don’t. If I had done, I would have known that my outfit selection was putting me at a severe disadvantage in the pulling arena. My grandma had bought me a beige T-shirt covered in prints of African elephants. I knew it was expensive, so I thought it must be cool. Just the kind of thing the heir to two electronics empires would wear. Jeans have never suited me; in case you’re wondering why – then imagine me in jeans. Go on, do it now … See what I mean? So I opted for cords. Brown ones. Little did I know then, but it has since been scientifically proven that it is impossible for a woman to be attracted to a man wearing brown corduroy. So with my brown cords and African elephant T-shirt, what better way to complete the ensemble than with a pair of black loafers? Believe it or not, I did look in the mirror before I went out and thought I looked good.
We were concerned about the club being very busy, so we arrived half an hour early so that we might be first in the queue. We needn’t have worried. Nobody, literally nobody, apart from Sam and me in 1992, has gone to a nightclub at the opening time. Most clubbers show up at midnight or later, but there we were loitering on our own at the entrance at 8.30 p.m. It was still light. At 9 p.m. our big moment came. Two burly bouncers (is there any other kind?) were standing outside as Sam and I confidently strode up to the entrance.
‘Are you open?’ Sam said, his voice breaking on the words ‘are’ and ‘open’.
The bouncer couldn’t help himself from chuckling as he saw the pair of us.
‘Do you want to come?’ he asked.
Nerves overcame me, which, as you know, results in me becoming extremely posh.
‘Yes, please, we want to come into this night establishment,’ I said.
‘Night establishment?’ the bouncer asked. ‘How old are you two?’
‘Eighteen,’ we both said in unison, practically before he’d finished asking the question.
‘Have you got any ID?’ the bouncer pressed.
This was the moment we had been preparing for all day. We instantly whipped out our A4 YHA certificates. The bouncer scrutinized them. He didn’t seem to be perturbed by the size or nature of them, he just checked the information. Sam’s name and birth date on his fake ID were both strokes of genius.
‘That’s today’s date. It is your birthday today, David?’ the bouncer asked Sam.
‘Yeah, it is, mate,’ Sam replied in an odd cockney accent.
‘Happy birthday,’ the bouncer said, seemingly genuinely. ‘David Kray, any relation?’
‘Yeah, leave it will ya?’ Sam confidently revealed.
Now, in