Me Life Story by Scarlett Moffatt (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

with a photo that made me look like I had an abnormally large head. The date of issue was July 1998, so I was only seven. My mam told me to pack a little backpack as she packed the big cases for the plane (when you’re seven, a two-and-a-half-hour flight sounds like forever). Of course I packed my Noddy toy, my Tamagotchi (otherwise she would die and to me she was my child), a pack of Pokémon cards in case I bumped into anyone who wanted to do some swaps and give me a shiny, my Aesop’s Fables book and a colouring book and pencils my mam had bought for me at WHSmith.

‘Should we take the crocodile-shaped lilo this year? I can go in the attic and bring it down!’ my dad shouted down the stairs.

‘No, they’re only about ten pesetas, Mark, stop being tight. What did you even bring it back for anyway? We haven’t got space for a bloody crocodile in the case, we can only just fit the bloody toiletries in here.’

‘It was just an idea. ’Ere, don’t forget that little list of people that want fags bringing back. Right, Scarlett, I’ll take you up to bed in a little bit, kid, when you’ve finished packing your boot bag.’

‘Dad, I’m not being funny but the street lights aren’t even on. The Bill hasn’t even been on the telly yet.’

‘We all need to go to sleep super early because the taxi is booked for three in the morning to get to the airport. You don’t want to be tired on the first day of your holidays, do you?’

I lay there awake, just staring at the animal wallpaper on my walls with the same feeling I had on Christmas Eve. I kept picturing all the things I would be doing on my jollies. Paddling around the sea with my little mermaid armbands on (I’ve never been a strong swimmer, as some of you would have seen when I was in I’m a Celebrity and I had to be rescued by Larry Lamb – but I’ll come back to that disaster later). Trying to beat all the other kids’ sandcastles with my dad and digging a hole big enough for me to stand in. Getting up super early so we could save a sun lounger before all the Germans got the best ones. Being allowed to eat a whole share bag of Cheetos to myself in one sitting. I couldn’t wait.

The morning came and I put on the outfit that was laid out, having been specifically bought for travelling purposes: new Tammy Girl T-shirt, leggings and Daz white trainers. I was ready! At the airport we bought tubes of Pringles, chocolates and sweets in fear that we wouldn’t see English food for another week. I also managed to persuade my mam to get me an Art Attack magazine at duty free because it had a free little notepad with it.

‘Have we definitely got everything, Mark?’

‘Yep.’

‘Money, tickets, house keys and passports?’

‘Here’s the passports. You have the money and everything.’

‘Bloody Nora, look at my passport picture. Do I really look like that, Mark? Like is that my actual face? I hope border control at least do a double-take, I look like a criminal on that.’

Sitting on the plane (and thanking the Lord I was short as it meant I actually had leg room), I was ready for the adventure ahead, trying to listen to the safety information – although there’s always that one family who are chatting so loud, all in matching tracksuits. I don’t know why I brought loads of stuff to do on the plane because as soon as we were in the air I fell straight asleep until touchdown when that same family woke me up by clapping and cheering because we had landed safely.

‘Phew, the heat hits you like a brick wall. It’s too hot for me, this, far too hot, I’m melting, I think the soles of my shoes are actually melting,’ I said as soon as we got off the plane. ‘Dad, do you think you could fry eggs on this floor?’

‘Woah, deffo kid.’

‘Behave, you two. We have only just got off the plane. It’s 29 degrees, we’re hardly at boiling point.’

We had a whole fortnight of the Spanish sun ahead of us and my nanny and grandad were meeting us there on the second week, which I was super excited for. This all-inclusive thing was pretty new and we all wanted to take advantage of it. To be honest, me and my dad saw it as more of a challenge than a benefit and over the course of the holiday my dad sickened himself with about twenty tubs of the ‘free’ ice cream that tasted more like mousse.

Being a beach babe and having a little cheeky wee in the sea.

When I wasn’t eating ice cream I would be having fun in the kids’ club, which was run by a woman called Grace who had skin like leather and always had a fag in her hand. We would be let loose on the karaoke, have ping-pong championships and make pictures using lots of glue and pipe cleaners. I had a little friendship gang at kids’ club. There were two Swedish brothers who could speak a little English: Douglas, which I pronounced as ‘Dog-less’, and Dennis, which I pronounced as ‘Dean-ish’. There was also Rebecca who was a Yam Yam from the Black Country near Birmingham and Clare from Glasgow (whose name I insisted was pronounced ‘Clear’). So by the end of the day I had a very mixed accent.

‘Where am yam gewwin tonight, Scarlett?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Din-er, think we are staying in the hotel, Rebecca, coz we don’t have to pay for stuff here and there’s gonna be the mini disco and a man who comes and you can have a picture took with his big snake and flamenco dancers.’

‘Gonnae no dae that, I don’t like snakes,’ said Clare.

‘Oh I love snakes, the bigger