Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [34]
We endlessly messed about, hanging upside down at the local parks’ monkey bars, making giant bacon, avocado and tomato sandwiches, and devouring Ribena juice cartons by the multitude – in an effort to win the £5,000 prize you got if you happened to drink the carton that contained the magic ‘Harry the Lime’ toy inside.
And that has kind of been our friendship ever since.
He is godfather to my first son, Jesse, and he was the best man at Shara’s and my wedding. (I am still waiting to be his – come on girls, get with the programme – he is a serious catch!)
Charlie helped me, at a very formative age, to understand that there are no prizes for taking either yourself or life too seriously, and that life should be lived freely. Charlie was the first buddy I had met who really lived the way I enjoyed. He also wore messy clothes, slept outside a lot, laughed at ridiculous things and hung upside down in trees.
Not much has changed really, over the years – we both have maybe a few more grey hairs, and I hope we both behave marginally better, but through it all, our friendship has grown stronger as we have both been rolled and rocked by the boat of life.
Old friends are wonderful, aren’t they? There is nothing to explain.
I recently asked Charlie to try and remember some of his favourite stories from that year after school we spent together. And they vary from the sublime to the very ridiculous.
Like the time we built our own circus trapeze swing in the garden, and I hung by my legs upside down, and then had the rope snap, dropping me down right on my head from quite some height. (Charlie said he heard the loud crack of vertebrae crumpling and was certain I was dead – but somehow I walked away from it.)
Then there was the day we both raided my sister Lara’s very expensive ‘Dead Sea mud pack’, that she had bought several years earlier, but had never been able to bring herself to use. We covered ourselves, head to toe, in this gloop, and fell asleep on the grass, waking with a start when she came back, red with rage.
Charlie and I would find giant hedges in London parks and repeatedly leap into them from high branches of trees, using them as natural crash mats.
We dressed up in gorilla suits and sat on the rocks that overlooked a central London park café mainly frequented by the local old folk. Their faces were priceless.
I also remember managing successfully to push both Charlie’s knees through the railings of that same lakeside café, and then leaving him there, to repay him for some other gag he had played on me. He tried everything to get free – from olive oil, to being pulled and manipulated by passers-by – and it was only as the café was calling the fire brigade that I relented and managed to prise him free.
Together, we climbed across the giant River Thames by crossing under, rather than on top of, one of the big bridges. It was exciting climbing and brilliant fun – until Charlie’s car and house keys fell out of his pocket into the river.
We even fell through the ice of a frozen lake together in Ireland, one New Year, barely making it out alive. The girls we were with soothed our wounds with hot drinks and warm blankets for hours afterwards. And we milked their sympathy for days.
The list goes on and on, and I am proud to say it continues today. He is still one of my most lovely, loyal, and fun friends, and I am so grateful for that friendship.
Oh, and by the way, he is the most insanely talented artist on the planet, and makes an incredible living touching people’s lives through art. I thought I should mention that.
Anyway, I had one more trip planned for my year out, and after that I decided that I should probably (reluctantly) go to university.
But first I needed some more money.
I tried being a barman, but was fired for being scruffy, and then finally Ed, one of my old school friends, said why didn’t I start some self-defence classes in London, and make them exclusive to girls?
It was an inspired idea.
I had some flyers