Anger is an Energy: My Life Uncensored Read Online Free Page B

lock?’
    I loved the summers, because it meant we could be out all day long, with no need to go home at all – in fact, even forget that was home. And be so bitterly upset when it got dark in the
evening. You’d hear the yelling and the screaming, ‘Wherr
aaiir
ye?’ There were bombsites from the war, and thousands of kids running rampant in them. They were absolutely
like adventure playgrounds, thrilling. Amazing, a wonderful thing, a bombsite, to a kid. Never get bored, always something new to unravel and explore, and of course the factories too.
    Bloody hell, at five, six, seven, trying to break into the factorieswas thrilling. The whole area around Benwell Road and Queensland Road was still all blown up from the
war but they were putting factories in and around it. There’d be a whole bunch of us – everything you did in them days, there were twenty kids involved – and we’d build
makeshift ladders out of bricks from the bombsite, to climb up the walls. Once you were on the roof, everything was easy, you’d just drop in. It was a challenge, and I liked that.
    There was a Wall’s Ice Cream factory at the top of Queensland Road, and that was a magnet to try and break in there, but it was impossible – it was too modern, and had iron shutters
and grilles and padlocks. Instead, you’d wait for the vans when they were loading, and when the workers would go in to fill up the trolley and bring it back, you’d try to nick a lolly.
Every and any way to nick a Raspberry Split – that was the lolly of the day. Wall’s ice cream inside and raspberry ice on the outside – absolutely the most delicious lolly, and
anything
to get one for nothing.
    The ice they used to pack the ice creams in between – it wasn’t liquid nitrogen, but something like that; there’s some chemical in it to keep them cold while transferring
between the factory and the truck. One time, for a dare, I put my tongue on what I thought was an ice block, and it wasn’t, and it took a layer off. ‘Go on, I dare you to lick
it!’ ‘Uuuurrhh, I’ll do anything, I’m mad!’ ‘Run, here they come!’ ‘Ulluullulllulleh!’
    Another time, I got caught breaking in with my cousin Peter, Jimmy and two other kids. These coppers dragged Jimmy and me back to the house, and they must have seen the anxiety on our faces. My
dad answered the door, and they said, ‘Are these your kids? We caught them breaking in . . .’ He went, ‘Therr not mine, nottin’ to do wi me!’ It was obvious they were
nodding and winking at each other, and the police go, ‘Well, we don’t know what to do with them, maybe we should take them up north and leave them there?’ Oh, the sense of
abandonment! I cried my eyes out. It sounded very real.
    As adults, I suppose they were having a laugh about it, bothsides. It was only an empty garage we got caught in, there was nothing in there. It was a smart way of telling
you, ‘Stay out of what’s not yours.’ And, ‘Don’t get caught’ – that was always my dad’s bottom line. ‘If yer goanna do stupid t’ings,
don’ get caught – don’ fockin’ embarrass me!’
    So we were eventually let in, but made to stand outside for a while, and think about what we were doing. It worked. It ended the ‘letting ourselves into other people’s
property’ phase. Who knows where that would’ve led? It’s a slippery slope, thievery and burglary and all of that, and presuming other people’s things are your right.
    But that’s how London was. Not a lot of cars, empty streets, street lighting was poor, and there were just hundreds and hundreds of kids unsupervised, getting up to God knows what on
bombsites. But not really unsupervised, it was, ‘Get oat an’ lerrrrn, an’ when ye com’ home, don’ bring da police wit’ ye!’
    Meningitis came from the rats. They were all over the place. They piss on the ground and, as rodents do, drag their bums leaving a urine trail. Meanwhile, I’d make paper
boats