by Peter Kay
The women used to find these insults hysterical but I couldn't figure out why. Perhaps it was because Roy was giving them some attention.
'. . . and speaking of death,' he continued, 'I'm sorry to have to tell you that the lady who collapsed at the back of hall last night sadly died this morning at Bolton Royal Infirmary, but we sent her a wreath of flowers from the Top Rank. OK, let's tickle those balls and it's eyes down for a full house,' and he'd start the game without missing a beat.
Top Rank used to have a monthly staff magazine and in one issue they featured an interview with Roy. The article was entitled 'Bingo's From Strength to Strength', and I remember reading it in the staff canteen. I was shocked at just how much he considered himself to be the saviour of modern-day bingo.
He said that the secret to the success of any bingo hall was giving the 'Billy Burners' what they wanted. In his case it was class.
'That's what they get at my club every time. That's why I'm guaranteed bums on seats for ever and a day. I'm full of ideas. For example, I organised a Christmas party a couple of years back and it was so successful that we've started having it annually. We were also the first club in the region to bring major acts to the club on a Saturday night.' That was something that Roy was particularly proud of ever since he'd booked Greengrass (the actor Bill Maynard) from Heartbeat for a Halloween party.
The acts read like a Who's Who of shite.
'We've had all the top artists including Johnny Logan, Dr Hook and the Wee Papa Girl Rappers. I even put in an offer for Shirley Bassey last Easter but her manager said she wouldn't get changed in the toilets. It was her loss.' Roy came across as a right bloody bighead.
Roy also used to organise coach trips to other Top Rank bingo halls. That amazed me. I mean, why would anybody want to visit another Top Rank bingo hall that was practically the same as the one you've just come from? But they did in their droves.
It reminded me of a mate of my dad's who worked on Bolton Fish Market. He went on holiday to Blackpool for a fortnight once and while he was there he decided to go on one of those 'Mystery Tours'. He got on the coach and had absolutely no idea where it was going until it pulled up outside Bolton Fish Market. So there he was, back at work.
'I thought you were away?' his co-workers said when he turned up at work.
'I am,' he said. 'I'm on a bloody Mystery Tour.' He ended up working a shift and selling some fish while he was there. True story.
One thing Roy didn't like was people like me, or 'the new blood' as he called us in the article.
'They've got no enthusiasm, no passion and if they don't buck up they'll be the poison that rots bingo for ever.' I thought that was a bit strong. He ended the article by mentioning that he'd never had a day off sick in twenty-eight years, not even when the doctor suspected meningitis.
He was obsessed with part-timers like me progressing up the bingo ladder and eventually becoming callers ourselves. I remember one of the lads that I worked in the kitchens with getting a right lecture from Roy one night.
'Is there nothing you want to do with your life?' he said.
'I'm only here for the summer to earn a bit of cash before I go back to university,' the lad said.
Roy hated students.
'And what are you studying?'
'Politics, European Law and Advanced Semantics,' he replied.
'That's all very well and good but where's that going to get you?' said Roy.
I worked a lot of hours that summer. I had to, just to feed my expensive habit – learning to drive. After two tests I was now on to my third instructor, Norris. I got him out of the free paper Loot. And what a big girl's blouse he turned out to be. He was a nervous wreck with a sweepover and a tank top. Like Frank Spencer on steroids. And he had absolutely no confidence in my inability to drive. I remember he once said, 'The road is the classroom and you are the pupil.' To say we didn't get on would be putting it mildly.
Impatient and stubborn (well, so would you be after 146 lessons), I demanded that he put me in for the test, which he did. I failed miserably on both attempts. Once, for arguing with the examiner before we'd even left the examination centre car park. He wanted to go left and I wanted to go right. The second time I failed because I had to swerve to avoid hitting a bread van on Bury Road. Surely that couldn't be deemed as my fault? The feckless arsehole never indicated.
But when I got back to the test centre the examiner told me what I already knew.
'I'm sorry to tell you, Mr Kay, but you've failed your test. Can I ask you what you plan to do now?'
'Find the driver of that bread van and kick his fucking head in,' I said.
The examiner got out of the car leaving me slumped over the wheel in a deep depression.
The closest I'd got to owning my own vehicle was buying a knock-off mountain bike. I loved that bike and used to cycle to work on it all the time. It frightens me now when I think that I never used to wear a cycling helmet. The bike didn't have any lights either and I always used to listen to my Walkman when I was cycling too. How I wasn't knocked down and killed I'll never know.
Like I said, I worked a lot of hours, but Sunday was my worst shift. I used to do fifteen hours straight through with a twenty-minute tea break. I'd usually grab some food and sit out the back on some bread trays admiring the baking sun. Wincey Willis was right, it truly was a glorious summer and I was bitter to be missing it. The stifling heat made the Top Rank even more unbearable. And every Sunday would culminate with the mother of all bingo games, the National.
The National was when all the bingo clubs in the region linked up to play live for a jackpot prize of half a million pounds. It was a very prestigious game, so much so that Roy changed the colour of his bow tie when the club switched to a live link-up. Lord knows why as the other clubs couldn't see him. He used to call it 'PP', 'Professional Presentation'. God, he was a knob.
In order to comply with the national gaming federation rules nobody was allowed to make a noise during the national. The bar shutter went down and food was no longer available. The staff had to stand like mannequins. No one could glass collect, no one could move, no one could breathe because there was so much 'big money' at stake. And if there was any kind of disruption the bingo hall responsible could find themselves landed with a hefty fine.
One night during the National, I was busy in the kitchen washing cups and plates. I was knackered and hot. It had been an incredibly hectic night and the floor in the kitchen was wet through. I'd forgotten to put the 'Caution: Slippery Floor' sign up as the health and safety act requires, but I don't think even that would have helped my supervisor Janice as she came charging through the door to tell me that 'the National has just started'. But before I had the chance to warn her, her feet hit a wet spot on the floor which sent her skidding across the floor on her arse.
I got a verbal warning. Apparently Roy was furious but he never said anything to me. Still, things started to go downhill after that. I got a second verbal warning a week later for putting the wrong fluid in the dishwasher. That was a genuine mistake but the kitchen supervisor wasn't happy when three hundred teacups came out of the dishwasher dirtier than they went in.
The following Saturday night it was my twenty-first birthday. I'd booked a meal for the family at a pub restaurant that had been highly recommended. I was all set for a lovely night out until I found out they'd double booked the table. The place was chock-a-block, so all we could do was wait. . . and wait. . . and wait some more. We finally decided to throw in the towel at half past nine. We were all hungry, fed up and my nephew was about to have one of his tantrums. He was tired after having spent all day pounding the streets as a traffic warden. That was a shit joke, sorry.
We ended up calling into a Chinese chippie on the way back. Then when I got home I threw up all over the vestibule. I thought the sausage had tasted a bit funny. So there I was, twenty-one years old and my head stuck down the toilet. Happy Birthday!
The next morning I felt rotten but got up
and cycled to work regardless. When I got to the Top Rank, Beryl, one of the kitchen staff, took one look at me and told me to go home. 'You can't make three hundred sandwiches when you've got the shits.' She always had a way with words did Beryl.
The next day I was hauled into the manager's office and he sacked me. I asked him why and he accused me of neglecting my work due to having a birthday hangover. I tried to tell them about the dodgy food but he wasn't having any of it. Bloody bingo mafia. I'm convinced to this day that Roy was yanking his chain.
'Plus you were seen on the CCTV footage cycling your bike through the main hall,' he said.
I had to admit that was true but I'd always done it. It was half seven on a Sunday morning for God's sake, I was hardly going to knock down any pensioners. And anyway, how was I to know I was being filmed?
'I have no choice but to terminate your employment,' he said.
'When you say terminate my employment, what do you mean?'
'I mean as from today you are no longer an employee of Top Rank bingo.'
But still I quizzed him. 'When you say terminate does that mean I can't even come into the building for game of bingo? Are my family terminated? Or are they allowed to play bingo?'
We discussed the word terminate in great detail for over twenty minutes and then he eventually lost his cool.
'Look,' he said, 'we've been over and over this, I have nothing more to say, you are finished working for Top Rank bingo, your employment is no more and still you persist in discussing it. Why?'
'Because I've not clocked off yet and I've just got another twenty-five minutes out of you.'
'Get him out of my office,' he said through gritted teeth.
I ended up being escorted off the premises like a common criminal. I never went back there ever again. It's shut down now and boarded up. Good riddance.
Chapter Thirteen
With Bert by Torchlight
Last night I went to the cinema and watched Superman Returns. And as the opening titles came on the screen I found myself filling up. Before I knew it I was unable to control myself and had tears streaming down my cheeks. I must admit that I like a good cry occasionally – I'm sure you'll agree it does you good to shed a few tears – but at Superman? I mean it's hardly The Champ or Who Will Love My Children?
I think it touched me so deeply because Bryan Singer, the director, has gone to great lengths to recreate the feel of the original Superman movie from 1978 and for a few minutes I was completely transported back to my childhood, to the Lido cinema in Bolton, to when I was five. I know it sounds freaky but I can even remember exactly where my Dad and I sat when we first watched the film.
Superman was a big deal when it was released in 1978 and the tag line for the film was: 'You'll believe a man can fly.' I was so overwhelmed and fired up after seeing it that as we left the cinema that afternoon in December I immediately removed my arms from my parka and I flew off down Newport Street. Skidding through sleet and snow thinking I was Superman, humming the tune over and over while my dad bought some new steel toecap boots from the World-Famous Army & Navy Store.
Those feelings of excitement came back last night as soon as I heard that powerful John Williams score again and I found myself a blubbering mess.
I've talked before about memories being relived through music, but this was the first time I'd ever experienced a similar feeling on a visit to the cinema. That's why I still love cinema so much, because even after all these years no matter where you are, when you go or what you're watching you completely escape from the real world for a couple of hours.
Superman was one of the first times I ever felt completely removed from the world outside. Then it happened again when I saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind — Special Edition (that's the one where they show Richard Dreyfuss going into the spaceship at the end). I remember my amazement when I saw the colossal mother ship landing. I just gawped at it with my eyes out on stalks.
But if there's one film that succeeded in transporting a whole generation it must be Star Wars. That was the big one, no doubt about it. I'm not even a huge Star Wars fan. I can't rattle off the make and model of Han Solo's screwdriver and I can't tell you the name of Luke Skywalker's mother's cousin, but I do have total admiration for George Lucas and what he's achieved (excluding Howard the Duck). Is it me or does George Lucas look as though he's slowly turning into Chewbacca the older he gets?
When I saw outer space on the big screen for the first time it had me hook, line and sinker – by the end of the film I was bouncing up and down in my seat, shooting pretend rayguns at the other baddy spaceships and Darth Vader. I genuinely felt as though I was in the final battle scene at the end. I too should have got a medal for blowing up Death Star.
The reason I'm telling you all of this is because after leaving Top Rank bingo my next part-time job was to be a cinema usher at the very same cinema where I first saw Superman and Star Wars.
Still furious from the Top Rank fiasco, I found myself down the jobcentre yet again. I was still working at the garage but my hours were down to just one morning a week. If truth be told, I was only keeping my hand in in order to feed my ongoing dependency on blank tapes and batteries.
I'd also left the cash and carry job a few months earlier after they decided to close the branch behind the abattoir and move to a new state-of-the-art store eight miles away. The new depot was enormous, so big that HB and the other managers had to drive around in golfing buggies just to get from one end of the store to the other. But all the fun was at the old building. I found the new store very corporate and clinical. HB wasn't allowed to use his air horn any more and we were no longer able to nick ourselves a fortune. The new depot was like Alcatraz the security was that tight. It was time to leave.
'Customer Care Assistant at a busy town-centre cinema' – that's what the card said in the jobcentre. Fourteen hours a week, £3 an hour.
'The wage is crap,' I thought to myself, 'but imagine all the films I'll get to watch for free.' It would hardly be like work at all.
It must have been the fastest job I ever got. I took the job card out of the stand over to Mandy behind the desk (we were on first-name terms as I'd become one of her regulars). She rang the cinema and they told her to send me straight round. So I walked the two hundred yards to the Lido on Bradshawgate. It was there I first met the manager, Mrs Hayworth. She looked me up and down and said, 'Right, you can start Saturday, wear a white shirt and black trousers, we supply the bow tie.' And that was that. Within fifteen minutes I was officially a cinema usher.
It felt strange at first being on the 'other side', I mean to be working in a cinema, especially one I'd been going to as a customer my entire life.
There used to be two cinemas in Bolton when I was growing up. The Lido and the Odeon on the other side of town opposite the bus station. I have to say that my favourite (and most people my age in Bolton will probably agree) was the Odeon. Sadly it was shut in the mid-eighties and turned into the Top Rank bingo hall. Which was an absolute abomination in my opinion (and so was my job there).
I thought the Odeon was a magnificent cinema, with striking chandeliers and two giant staircases that wound up either side of the beautiful art deco foyer. I used to love that walk to the screen. It was so exciting, shuffling into the darkness, having to adjust your eyes to the light so you could find the aisle and choose a seat for yourself.
The Odeon's was one of the grandest foyers I've ever seen in a cinema. It was huge, with two cashier desks to cope with the demand during the school holidays. There were always a plethora of exciting and colourful cardboard stands in the foyer, advertising the new film releases. I loved those and the posters too – 'James Bond is Back', or a tenth Police Academy. God, it was exciting. It never leaves you.
I also love watching the trailers before the film starts. In fact, you could forget all about the main feature as far as I'm concerned. I'd be happy just sitting watching trailers for two hours. I'm gutted if I ever get there late an
d miss them. Because that for me is what going to the cinema is all about, watching trailers and seeing just how much food you can stuff into your mouth before the film starts and then spending the rest of the film craving a Kiora to quench your thirst.