by Emma
'A hole! What do you mean?'
'You'll see it when you get home. There's a great big hole
chewed in the side.'
'What are you going to do?' i asked him.
'What do you mean, what am i going to do? There's not a
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lot i can do. I'll try and stick a bit of the floor back down.
We'll have to see if we can get some more pieces. What I'd
like to do to Bracken isn't repeatable over the telephone.'
i could well understand what he meant, but how could
that little innocent puppy do so much damage? i wondered.
We knew it wasn't Buttons. She had been a chewer, but not
for very long and she was over a year old now. She had grown
out of that habit. Labradors, i hate to admit, do tend to be
very destructive. Not all of them, just some, but then i
suppose some of every breed are destructive, so i mustn't
condemn Labradors. But if i were to tell you what Bracken
has eaten, chewed up and ruined it would take the whole of
this book, so i won't bother. Luckily for us, we only have one
Bracken. Buttons had chewed, as i mentioned. Only once,
but a very important once.
i had done a lot of television programmes about the book,
Emma and I. Emma had gone with me and we'd had lots of
fun and met some really nice people, but there was just one
programme i really wanted to be on, one that i enjoyed
watching every week, and that was the Michael Parkinson
chat show. There wasn't a hope in hell's chance of me getting
on there. i mean, they only have famous people on - film
stars and the like - but secretly, i hoped. My publishers told
me they'd sent the book to the programme to see if there was
any chance of my getting an interview and, by a sheer fluke,
it came off. They weren't interested at first. They said they
had plenty of material like my book and a big star was
coming from America (i can't remember who it was now)
but then i saw a rainbow. You might think this very silly, but
i have great faith in rainbows. After the operation on my
eyes one of the things i desperately wanted to see was a
rainbow. I'd heard so much about them and they sounded so
beautiful. It was six months before i saw one and it was
marvellous, impressive, stirring, romantic, and every time i
see a rainbow something really lovely happens to me. So i
am always on the look-out for them. And i saw a rainbow in
Leicester. Not a real one, but a pub called The Rainbow. It
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had the same efrect. i knew something marvellous was going
to happen, ljust didn't know what. Then that very evening i
had a message from the publishers to say that we had been
accepted for the Parkinson Show, as the American film star
had let them down. Could i go down on Saturday? i could. i
was only left with three days to worry and think about it. They
were going to send a taxi - a big one they assured me, because
of Emma. Emma was coming up for fourteen years old and
her comfort was uppermost. If i wanted to go anywhere with
her, i had to make sure that she was going to be happy and
comfortable. She had always been very adept at curling up
into tight spots as a young dog but now she became stiff unless
there was plenty of room for her to stretch out, and that meant
a decent car for her to travel down in.
'Yes,' they kept saying, 'we'll send a nice big taxi for you.'
'Lovely.' And i said to Don, 'Perhaps there'll be enough
room for somebody to come with us.'A big taxi to me and him
meant a big taxi. The sort of Daimler-type that can seat three
or four, even five, in the back and still have plenty of room.
'What about asking Deirdre?'
'Yes, that would be nice,' i said. Deirdre was John's wife.
John is Don's partner in his chiropody practice. johii had
been to America with us and we had asked Deirdre if we had
anywhere exciting to go, television-wise, would she like to
come~'It's amazing how you get used to this sort of thing. The
inside of a television studio is old hat to me now but i
remember when it was a very excl tlng happening, and friends
always want to see what they're like, to see what's on the other
side of the camera.
'What about Sylvia and Mick as well?' Don asked. 'There
would be plenty of room, wouldn't there?'
'Yes, of course.' Mick was Don's brother, Sylvia his wife.
'I'll get on the phone to them right away,' he said.
i could see it was going to be a right old outing. Mick, Sylvia
and Deirdre were all absolutely delighted. just like me,
though, Sylvia and Deirdre were in a panic about having
hair-dos, and getting dresses for the evening.
'What are you wearing?' Sylvia rang me back to ask.
ig
i
'I don't know yet, haven't really thought. I'll go and have
a look in the wardrobe. If there's nothing suitable, i suppose
I'll have to go down to the shops.'
'Mm, I don't know what to wear. Do you think it'll be
warm?'
' i think so,' i said. 'It usually is in television studios. In
fact, it's boiling hot with all those lights.'
'I've got a nice summer dress. Anyway, let me know what
colour you're wearing first, will you?'
'Yes, fine, Sylvia.'
i looked in the wardrobe. There was nothing i really
fancied wearing for the Parkinson Show. After all, it had to
be something extra special. i was lucky though - i saw
something really nice in one of the local shops: a velvet suit
in wine colour. I'm crackers about velvet, probably because
it feels so good. Touch is still an all-important sense to me.
Not only must a thing look good, it must feel good. i would
have preferred green but wine is my second favourite
colour. i love green because of the grass and the trees. There
are so many different shades of green, I never cease to be
surprised at them. The spring and the summer, even the
autumn, turn up different shades of green and there's always
a different shade when snow has been down. That was one of
my big surprises. The grass stays there underneath the snow.
Anyway, I settled for the wine-coloured velvet suit, which
meant that i had to buy new shoes. i decided to buy black
patent ones because they'd match everything.
Saturday came and we were all waiting for this lovely big
taxi they had promised to send us. Don and i, Deirdre, Mick
and Sylvia and Emma. When the taxi man arrived, we
rushed out with great excitement. It was almost like
emigrating, let alone doing a television programme. When i
saw the car that stood at the bottom of our drive, i was
horrified. I looked around to make sure there were no other
cars standing nearby, but when the driver opened the door, i
realized that it must be the one. It looked more like a heap on
wheels to me, something that Mr Ford had invented back in
the igios. It was incredibly old, incredibly battered and
20
incredibl-,, dirty. We had to put newspaper down in it before<
br />
we dared to sit down and as for room, well, i stood there on
the pavement trying to work out how we could all get in. i
was completely unable to accept the fact that it was
impossible. All i could hear was the Michael Parkinson
theme tune and him standing there saying i hadn't arrived.
As no one else seemed to be doing anything, i took charge.
'Right, Deirdre, Sylvia and Mick in the back.' i think
they were so shocked, they didn't protest. They all squeezed
in the back. i had ajob shutting the door.
'Emma, you get in the front. Oh no, no. That won't work,
I'll sit in the front.' i got in the passenger scat. Emma, by this
time, had climbed over into the driver's scat. i looked round
to see Mick, Sylvia and Deirdre settled in the back, a little bit
like sardines in a tin but, nevertheless, they were in. Then i
noticed the driver. He was leaning on the bonnet of the car
gazing into the distance, with a Park Drive hanging out of
the corner of his mouth. Don tapped on the window.
'Petal, the driver's not in, let alone me.'
'Oh no,' i groaned. 'Itjust won't work.' i got out of the car
and, undaunted, tried again. 'Right, i think you'd better get
in first,' i said to the driver. He walked casually round to the
driver's side and sat in behind the wheel as if we had all day.
'You get in the back, Emma. Right, I'll sit in with you.
That's better, we've plenty of room.' But there were still four
people to get in one front passenger seat. i climbed out on to
the pavement again. 'It won't work,' i said to Don. 'It just
won't work. What are we going to do?'
Then Mick stepped in. 'Of course it'll work,' he said. 'I'll
take my car. Me and Sylvia and Deirdre can travel down in
our car. That will leave you plenty of room.'
i saw the look of sheer relief on Deirdre's face. Without
any argument she went straight back to their car. It was all
right for those three. Poor me, Don and Emma had to be
rattled and bashed and skidded all the way down the M i to
London. It was a terrible experience, and one i don't wish to
repeat in a hurry. Now, if i ever get asked down to television
shows, my first question is what sort of transport will there
2i
be? - and i mean a detailed account. i woii't settle for, 'Oh,
it'll be okay, there'll be plenty of room.'
It wasn't until we were about half-way down the M i that i
began to notice something strange about one of my feet. It
didn't seem to be very comfortable any more, so i had a feel.
i was stricken with horror to find out that one of my shoes
had been half chewed away. The heel had gone out
completely. Instead of being normal shoes, I'd got one sling
back and one ordinary. i couldn't believe it. i took it ofrmy
foot to examine it.
'Don!' i said. 'Look at this shoe!'
'Good grief, what's happened to it?'
'It looks as if somebody's chewed it,' i said.
'Who? There's only Emma in the car and she's been fast
asleep.'
'It must have happened before i put it on.' i couldn't
imagine how i could possibly have put a half-chewed shoe on
without realizing it.
'You must have noticed,' Don said, as if he was reading
my thoughts.
'Yes, i would have thought so. i was probably so excited
and in a hurry, liust didn't. ljust slung them on my feet and
hoped for the best.'
'What are you going to do? You can't go on the Parkinson
Show with a half-chewed shoe, can you now?' he said.
'There's only one thing for it,' i said. 'We'll have to find a
shoe shop.'
He made a pretence of looking out of the window on the
M I. 'Can't see any round here,' he said with a smile.
'No, you wouldn't, would you? But there's bound to be
one somewhere when we get off the motorway.'
'I don't think we're going on a shopping route.' He leaned
over and asked the driver. 'When we get off the M i, do you
think you could find a shoe shop?'
'A shoe shop!' he retorted. i think he thought he was
hearing things.
'Yes, that's right. We want a shoe shop desperately.'
'Oh, a shoe shop. Well, I'll have a look.'
22
i
We took an earlier exit ofT the motorway. We knew Mick
and Sylvia following us would be rather surprised, but they
followed us. We kept looking round and seeing Mick
mouthing things like, 'This isn't the way to the BBC,' and
waving his hands furiously. It was very difficult for him to
understand our signs through the back window. It was so
dirty we could barely see out. So they just had to be patient
until we stopped outside a shoe shop. Mick, Sylvia and
Deirdre immediately rushed out of the car and over to us.
'What's the matter?' Mick said. 'What's happened, is
there something wrong?'
Instead of explaining, i picked my shoe up and showed it
him. He looked at the shoe and then down at Emma.
'Good heavens, did she do that?'
'No, of course she didn't. It could only have been Buttons.
She must have sneaked upstairs while we were having lunch
and found it in my bedroom.'
'It would have been cheaper to give her some of your
lunch,' Mick said, laughing.
i wasn't in the mood to see the funny side at the time, especially
as the shoe shop turned out to be quite an expensive one.
i was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at the
television studios with plenty of time to spare and still in one
piece. It was awe-inspiring to discover that I was to appear
with Peter Alliss, the professional golfer, and johnny
Mathis, the brilliant American singer. Emma, as always,
was oblivious to the importance of Michael Parkinson and
she confidently led the way down those terrible steps.
Everybody dreads those stairs on chat shows - i wonder why
they have them? As Michael Parkinson began to ask me the
questions, Emma started to snore.
'Do you mean to tell me that that dog,'he said, pointing to
the chocolate form at my feet, 'actually knew what a post
office meant?'
As if in answer, Emma got up, looked at him, gave one of
those snorts that she's famous for, turned her back on him
and went to sleep. If Michael himself didn't take that as an
answer, the audience certainly did.
23
i
CHAPTER TWO
BOOKS, TELEVISION PROGRAMMES, visits to radio
stations, children, dogs and cats - my life seemed to be so
hectic i hardly knew where i was going or what i was
doing. And then there was the other side of it, the horrible
side. i suddenly discovered that i was self-employed and
I'd got to do something about it. There was no Pay-AsYou-
Earn where tax had already been taken from my wage
packet. How simple it had been when i was a telephonist!
Now it was up to me to sort it all out. Well, i couldn't. It's
as simple as that. i haven't the brain for that sort of thing.
So Don and i d
ecided that we would employ an
accountant. i had heard that there was a nice friendly one
down in Stapleford so i rang him up one day and asked if it
would be possible for him to come and see me.
'I've got a young baby,' i explained, 'and no one to look
after her at the moment.'
'Yes, that's fine. i can pop down tomorrow afternoon if
you like. It'll only take about an hour to sort out what you
need doing.'
Mr Summers duly arrived. Since I've been able to see,
I've found that gradually I'm falling into the trap of all
sighted people -judging on first sight, as it were. As a blind
person I could never do this. i would go on voice, of course,
but i found i usually waited till the real character, the real
inside person, came out. i look at someone and instantly
form a judgement (i might add that it's often completely
wrong), but I've found I'm going I'Urther than that and
categorizing people. You know the sort of thing: I imagine
all lorry drivers are big, burly fellows with curly hair. And i
had a very clear picture of how i expected my accountant to
look: very small, thin, balding on top, steel-rimmed spec
24
tacles and a long parrot-like nose. So, you can imagine my
surprise when the man i opened the door to was tall, very
well-built, had dark "-avy hair and a moustache. To be
honest, he looked more like a gun-slinger than an
accountant. 'Mr Summers?' i asked rather tentatively.
'Yes, how do you do. Call me Ray.' He gave my hand a
firm shake, walked into the lounge and made himself at
home on the settee. 'Right then, shall we start at the
beginning?' he said in a lovely Nottinghamshire accent. 'Can
I have a look at your books?'
'Erm ... books. Erm ... you mean ... book. You'd like to
have a look at the book.' i picked a copy of Emma and I ofrthe
shelf and handed it to him. He hadn't read it then. i am one
of those writers who always assumes no one has read their
books and if i ever get stopped in the street or receive letters
saying that people have, i still can't help being surprised.
It's marvellous that they've actually chosen my book out of
all those hundreds on sale in the bookshop. Mr Summers