Diary of a Chav (17 page)

We got picked up at the station by a bloke holding a sign which said
Shiraz Bailey Wood
and put into a swanky van and taken to our hotel, which was called The Norwich Traveler’s Rest and was on a traffic circle overlooking a traffic jam. When we got to the front desk the receptionist gave us a form which reminded us that any bills or damages we ran up in the hotel were our responsibility and not
Fast-Track Family Feud
’s and we had to sign a form saying we’d behave ourselves. “What a flaming liberty! Who do they think we are?” said my mum, but then I reminded her about the Barret-Coopers from Doncaster last week and their pyromaniac son, then Mum admitted the form was probaby a good idea. I hoped we might see Cava-Sue at the hotel but she wasn’t there. I started to worry then that she might not come at all.

Soon Jocasta and her friend Samantha arrived to escort us to the TV studio. Jocasta took me off by myself and said she loved my pink tracksuit and gold hoops and said I would be the main focus of our show as I am “such a spirited, interesting character” which is the sort of thing teachers used to write in my report card when they meant “gobby annoying cow” but somehow Jocasta made it sound like a good thing.

“OK,” I said, “but I want my makeup done ’cos I don’t want to go on national telly looking butterz.” Then Jocasta laughed and said she’d sort it out.

I sat in the makeup chair and this woman with a spiral perm stuck peach blusher and brown mascara on me like I was thirty or something, then she looked at my hair, which was in a neon-pink scrunchy, and said, “What do we want done with this then?”

So I said, “I want it left like that but with more hairspray.”

And the woman said, “But it’s all poking up like a pineapple!”

So I said, “Have you looked in the mirror recently? Your hair is all frizzy like pubes.”

Then Jocasta nearly spat tea everywhere and the makeup woman shut up after that.

Then Reuben Smart, who is the host of
Fast-Track Family Feud,
came in the room and he shook my hand and said, “Shiraz Bailey Wood?” and I didn’t recognize him at first ’cos in real life he is well scrawny and really brown, like a skeleton dipped in Marmite. Then Reuben said, “Are you the girl who has all of the Jonas Brothers’ faces tattooed on your back?”

And Jocasta said, “No Reuben, Shiraz is the girl with the runaway sister and the morbidly obese dog.”

“Ah, OK, right,” said Reuben. “Well, Shiraz, you have a good show. And remember, plenty of energy. Plenty of backchat. No swearing because it’s live television. We’re all your friends here so let’s get all the tension out in the open and work through it.”

“Is my sister, Cava-Sue, here?” I said.

“She’s just arrived, she’s talking to Kirsten at the moment,” said Jocasta.

They stuck a microphone up my top and clipped it on to my bra, then told me not to go for a wee or anything ’cos everyone upstairs in the control room can hear the woosh sound and they put them all on a tape and laugh at it at the Christmas party. Then they said, “Five minutes to go, we’re going to take you through to the studio now, Shiraz,” and they took me through onto “the floor” and placed me on a seat in front of about a hundred people who looked a lot like the Brunton-Fletcher family ’cos a lot of them had funny teeth and looked quite aggressive. When I looked closer at the front row, I saw Pixie, Lewis, my dad, and my brother. They didn’t look very happy to be there. Not one little bit.

“And counting down . . . five-four-three-two-one,” said a bloke in a headset. “Going live!”

All of a sudden the really cheesy
Fast-Track Family Feud
theme music began to play and we were on LIVE NATIONAL TELEVISION and Reuben made his face look very very serious.

“Good afternoon and welcome to another edition of
Fast-Track Family Feud
!” said Reuben. “Now, we’ve got a case today that I know is going to shock you to the core, just as it shocked me and all of our researchers!”

All the crowd sat forward in their seats looking proper excited.

“Shiraz!” said Reuben, suddenly turning to me. “Thanks for coming. Tell me about your mother, Diane. . . . She’s a total nightmare isn’t she?”

“What?” I said, feeling a bit shocked. “Well. No. I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well you said it to our researchers,” said Reuben. “You said your mum drove your own sister out of the house. You said she smokes like a chimney! And she drinks too, doesn’t she? Didn’t you tell them that your mum once drank so much Peach Lambrella that she was dancing about the house making a right old carry on . . . and she got you drunk too!”

The crowd all began grumbling. This sounded really bad. I looked up at the monitor and there was a subtitle on the bottom of the screen that read:
Mum! Leave us alone — you’re wrecking our home!

“’Ere, hang on a minute!” I laughed. “What I said was my mum and me had a drink on New Year’s Eve.”

Reuben ruffled his notes and gave me a black look.

“A drink is a drink whatever date it says on the calendar, Shiraz,” he said.

The crowd gave him a round of applause. I looked at my dad and he was looking proper angry now.

“My mum’s not a drinker. And she only smokes because she’s stressed!” I said loudly. “And she’s stressed because our sister Cava-Sue has ran off to London.”

“Ah . . . Cava-Sue?” said Reuben, looking at his notes. “Is this the one who is working as a stripper?”

The crowd mumbled excitedly again. A man in a beanie hat cheered. Murphy looked really unhappy. Suddenly someone began shouting in the audience. It was Pixie.

“Cava-Sue Wood is not a stripper, you bloody liar,” she yelled at Reuben. “She is a mime artist and a singer! She does NOT strip. I’m her friend so I should know!”

The crowd were loving this.

“Wooooo! Another stripper!” shouted some blokes in the back row. “Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!”

“I never said any of this!” I said loudly, although no one was listening by now. “My mum isn’t a drunk and my sister isn’t a stripper.”

“Sorry, Shiraz, could you speak louder?” shouted Reuben.

“They’re both proper nice people really!” I shouted. “They just don’t get on ’cos Cava-Sue wants to do her own thing and Mum keeps getting on her case all the time. So Cava-Sue has gone. I just want everyone in my family to be friends again.”

The audience clapped then like I’d said something right.

“Well let’s bring out Cava-Sue and see what she has to say about all this!” said Reuben.

Suddenly the glittery doors at the side of the stage flung open and there was our Cava-Sue, standing there in her white fluffy fur coat, a smock dress, footless tights and high heels. She looked FURIOUS. She stormed toward me and began wagging her finger.

“Shiraz, you are a liberty!” she said. “What did you go and tell them I was a druggy and a stripper for? That ain’t true!”

“Woo-hoo! Fight!” roared the crowd.

“I didn’t tell them that at all!” I shouted above the noise.

Suddenly I was beginning to realize why
Fast-Track Family Feud
is always worth watching Sky+ for.

“Take a seat, Cava-Sue,” said Reuben. “Now there’s no use shouting and screaming. Just be calm and make your point.”

“I’m not a stripper,” said Cava-Sue, crossly. “I ran away from home as I am protesting against the outdated, unjust ideology that is bandied around our home as common law by my mother!” Cava-Sue took a deep breath and carried on, “I am a post-feminist, a green voter, and a free spirit! I’ll wear whatever I want and go wherever I want. No one can tell me what to do!”

Cava-Sue sat back in her chair looking triumphant. Everyone in the audience stared at her like she’d just announced that she was a giant hot-dog from the planet Tharg. Well, everyone except Pixie, who clapped dead loudly.

“Woo-hoo! You go, Cav!” shouted Pixie.

My dad, my brother and Lewis all covered their faces with their hands.

“So where are you living now, Cava-Sue?” asked Reuben. “On the streets? That’s a fine way to live your life, isn’t it?”

“No, not on the streets . . . mmmm . . . in my friend’s flat,” mumbled Cava-Sue.

“Oh really?” said Reuben. “But you told our researchers you were going to be homeless by December as you couldn’t afford rent.”

Cava-Sue winced a bit.

“Mmmm . . . well . . . yeah . . . but I’ll work something out,” she said huffily.

“Homeless? For Christmas?” said Reuben. “Seems like a high price to pay to get one over on your mum. Even if she is an alcoholic who mistreats your dog!”

The audience gasped again.

“Shame on all of you!” yelled a man on the second row with yellow teeth and a spider’s web facial tattoo.

“Well, that’s not strictly true,” tutted Cava-Sue.

“Let’s be honest here! The facts speak for themselves, Cava-Sue,” said Reuben. “The sooner we all face the facts the sooner we can build some bridges!”

Everyone cheered at that.

“Now,” said Reuben, before anyone else could speak. “We’ve got someone else backstage with an opinion on your family! Bring on Nan and bring on Penny the dog!”

Oh my days, I thought, beginning to feel very worried. What a mess.

Everyone clapped as the glittery doors opened and out came Nan, who appeared to have the same blusher and mascara on as me and her hair sprayed in a weird bouffant. Nan was dragging along our dog, who had obviously been bribed with something chocolaty to behave. Nan sat down on her chair and threw Reuben one of her hackiest Nan looks.

“Y’know, YOU, young man,” she grumped, “you’re the reason I’m not renewing my cable subscription! You’re supposed to be helping this family, not stirring things up.”

I looked into the monitor and I could see a shot of my mum backstage with Kirsten-who-is-trained holding her hand. She looked like she was crying.

“Exactly, Nan!” shouted Cava-Sue. “This is exploitation of the working man by the chattering classes in its basest form! It’s disgusting!”

“I agree!” I said, pretending to know what she meant.

“Well, Nan, what have you got to say about Diane Wood?” said Reuben, ignoring them.

“I say let Diane speak for herself,” shouted my nan. “All these accusations are blown out of proportion! Di doesn’t mistreat the dog! She loves that dog.”

“This dog is morbidly obese!” said Reuben, pompously.

Nan narrowed her eyes at Reuben.

“Well we don’t all have to run around in the shower to get wet like you, you bloody miserable bag of bones!” huffed Nan. “You look like a whippet on its back legs! You could do with a nice pork chop!”

Everyone laughed then, except Reuben.

“It’s understandable that you want to lash out at someone,” said Reuben to Nan patronizingly, then he put his hand to his earpiece. “Y’know, I don’t think we’re getting any sense from these people. I think we should meet the woman who is responsible for these out-of-control kids and that dog! Bring out Diane Wood!”

The
Fast-Track Family Feud
theme tune began to play and in the monitor we could see my mother refusing to go out on stage, then being literally dragged by the arm by Kirsten-who-is-trained and pushed through the glittery doors. The crowd saw her and began to boo and hiss!

“Boooooo! Shame on you!” hissed one woman in a blue parka and ski pants. Me, Cava-Sue, and Nan looked at each other in horror. I know that right at that moment all the Wood women felt EXACTLY the same as me. Really annoyed. I mean, it’s all right for us to slag each other off, but if anyone else slags the Wood family, that is TOTALLY NOT ON. We all had to stick together.

“Booooooo!” hissed ski-pant woman.

“Oh shut your faces!” shouted Cava-Sue.

“You don’t even know us!” I yelled.

“You’re like a bleeding lynch-mob!” said Nan.

Mum walked over to her seat and sat down beside Cava-Sue, and they both looked at each other proper nervous.

“So Diane,” said Reuben. “This is a right fine mess you’ve created here, isn’t it?”

My mum just shook her head and sniffed a bit.

“Is there anything you want to say?” said Reuben.

“Not really,” said my mum. “I’m a bit upset.”

“Oh come on,” said Reuben. “Don’t miss your chance.”

“Well OK,” said my mum. “I just want to say that I know I’m not perfect. And I know I’m a bit of a nightmare. But I’ve always worked my hardest for these kids. I’m not Wonder Woman.”

Me and Cava-Sue looked at her guiltily then.

“And god knows I’ve made mistakes. And maybe I ain’t good at apologizing. But I always loved the very bones of these kids. Loved ’em!”

It felt funny ’cos my mum never ever says she loves us. But when she said it, we both weren’t surprised or nothing. Deep down we both knew she loved us more than life itself. I reckon people don’t have to make a big song and dance about loving you for you to know that you’re loved. They don’t in my family anyhow.

“So what do you want then, Diane?” said Reuben.

“Well I know I don’t want my Cava-Sue to be homeless,” said my mum. “I want her to come home. I want her to know that I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Mum,” said Cava-Sue.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Say it to Cava-Sue, not to me!” shouted Reuben.

My mother turned to Cava-Sue.

“Just get yerself home, love,” said my mum in a quiet voice. “I won’t go on about you being a scrounger or nothing no more. And we’ll forget the housework chart. Let’s start again?”

Cava-Sue looked at my mum for a few seconds, then she put out her hand and put it over my mum’s on the chair arm. Cava-Sue didn’t say anything, but we all knew from that moment that she was coming home.

I’d only went and done it! She who dares wins!

Everyone cheered, even the woman in the ski pants who’d been told off for swearing at Mum ten minutes previously.

“Isn’t that great to see, ladies and gentlemen?” said Reuben. “Another
Fast-Track Family Feud
solved! We’re good at this, aren’t we? That just about wraps up this section, we’ve just got a few of your phone calls to take. Line one? Philip in Birmingham?”

“Er, hello Reuben!” said the voice on the line. “Yeah, where will Cava-Sue be stripping next?”