John Bishop - How Did All This Happen?

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If you’re a man of a certain age you’ll know there comes a point in life when getting a sports car and over-analysing your contribution to society sounds like a really good idea.With a good job in sales and marketing and a nice house in Manchester that he shared with his wife and kids, John Bishop was no different when he turned the dreaded 4-0. But instead of spanking a load of cash on a car that would have made him look like a senior stylist at Vidal Sassoon, he stumbled onto a pathway that ultimately lead him to become one of the nation’s best loved comedians. It was a gamble, but boy, did it pay off.How Did All This Happen? is the story of how a boy who, growing up on a council estate dreaming of ousting Kenny Dalglish from Liverpool FC’s starting line-up, suddenly found himself on stage in front of thousands of people nationwide, at an age when he should have known better.In his own inimitable style, John guides us through his life from leaving the estate and travelling the globe on a shoe string, to marriage, kids and the split that led him to being on a stage complaining to strangers one night – the night that changed his life and started his journey to stardom.Wonderfully entertaining and packed with colourful reminiscences and comical anecdotes, this is a heart-warming, life-affirming and ultimately very, very funny memoir from one of the nation’s greatest comedians.

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When I was 10 we left Winsford and moved to a brand new council estate in Runcorn. I joined Murdishaw West Primary School, along with Carol, while Eddie and Kathy went to Norton Priory Comprehensive, a 20-minute bus ride away.

Eddie at this point was very close to leaving school anyway, which suited him, as he hated it. He left as quickly as he could at the age of 15, which is quite ironic in many respects because, as I write this, having already completed an art degree in his forties, Eddie is now studying for his GCSEs in English and Maths to enable him to train to become a teacher. Prior to that, his adult life had been spent as a professional footballer playing for Chester and Tranmere, and as a welder, both careers fitting my image of him more than standing at the front of a classroom. But my own career change, too, shows that anything is possible.

Kathy, on the other hand, did well at school and left to train as a nursery nurse, knowing straight away that it was her vocation. She has now spent much of her working life looking after young children in nurseries and schools. I’ve visited her current school a few times to do an assembly for the children, and it is obvious why many people choose such a profession. Kids can be wonderful things – particularly when you can say goodbye to them at 3.30 p.m. Carol also went back to university and gained a degree in Community and Youth Studies, which led her to working at the young offender’s institute at Appleton Thorn, the former open prison our dad had been in. She now works as my PA, which is probably more challenging at times than working with delinquents.

For me, a new school was always an opportunity to make new friends and have fun. Playing football is a great way to make new allegiances, particularly if you are quite good, and I settled into my new school very quickly. It reflected the estate that it served: it was new, fresh and seemed to suggest potential in the very fabric of its walls. The classrooms were bright, and it was the first time that a teacher had a real influence on me.

Mr Jameson was our classroom teacher. Like all junior school teachers, he was charged with teaching us everything, from spelling and painting to world geography and maths. He also ran the school football team. Primary and junior school teachers at that time were like the Google of their age; they had to have an answer for everything, and Mr Jameson managed it all with a degree of calm control.

In one game, we played a nearby school and we won the game convincingly. Mr Jameson’s unruffled demeanour was notable in its contrast with the lunatic teacher from the other school, who stood on the sidelines screaming till his face went red. We almost felt bad for the lads we were playing against but, as they were from the next estate, it was our duty to hammer them.

After the game, we shook hands and did the obligatory three cheers for the opposition, which I always thought was good but belonged more in a rowing club than between teams from two council estates. I recall Mr Jameson speaking quietly afterwards to the opposing teacher, whose face quickly cooled from red to a pinkish shade of pale. None of us heard what was said, but for a day or so around the school it was rumoured that Mr Jameson had said, ‘Sorry you lost, but you’re a prick.’

However, what made him have an impact on me was that he recognised that not only did I like to play football and do all the other things that boys do, but I also enjoyed writing poetry and stories, and he would often allow me to continue working on a story long after the rest of the class had moved on to something else. I always valued this encouragement, and he made me feel confident, even if at times my spelling left us all confused. Every child going through the primary school system deserves someone like Mr Jameson to give them a hint that they can be something more than they can imagine.

It was good to go back to the school on the day that he retired, by then as headmaster. In the short time I was there, he made me the school football team captain, encouraged my imagination, and broke up the occasional fights I was involved in. He basically gave me confidence, and that has been an invaluable thing throughout my life (although, to be honest, I’ve often had much more confidence than I have had ability at times).

If there was ever a job I think I would have liked, it is that of a teacher in a junior school. I think those who work in education are some of the best of people we have. They have often chosen to take the opportunity to shape lives and influence our society rather than pursue a better-paid profession. I accept there are a fair few who fall into it because they partied through university and didn’t know what else to do or couldn’t get any other job. However, in my life, I know certain teachers changed the way I saw the world, and that cannot be said as readily about many people I have met as an adult.

I can still name the teachers who had a real influence on me:

1. Mr Jameson: for the reasons stated above.

2. Miss F: primary-school teacher who had a Spitfire, long blonde hair, lived in Sandbach and was, no doubt, my first crush, but as I was only six I didn’t act on it.

3. Miss J: comprehensive-school teacher on whom I definitely had a crush from the age of 13. I did act on this, but not till I left sixth form, details of which will not feature on these pages, but for which I shall always be grateful.

4. Mr Hilton: comprehensive-school PE teacher who put a great deal of time and effort into the sport at our school. He made me the captain of my secondary-school football team. (We didn’t have any other sports teams. There was once a lesson in rugby taken by another teacher, but a few broken collar bones and a fight later, that ended.) He also took me to all the town team games, and that eventually lead to a trial for the county under-15s team.

There were two games to be played that day, and I was put in the second group. We stood in the snow for ages till it was time to play, and then those supposedly watching didn’t notice for ten minutes that one team only had nine men. I scored and had one of my best games ever. Mr Hilton assured me I was probably the best player on the pitch, and as he was not prone to empty praise I was very encouraged by his comments. Everyone knew that getting into the county team was the first real step to being scouted by a club – it was the first vital step in your dream becoming a reality.

Those in charge with selecting the team were taking a long time to do it, however. They were huddled over clip boards and team sheets, so Mr Hilton told me to take the opportunity of a lift home from my friend’s dad so I could get warm. ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you with the good news later.’

A few hours later he phoned the house to tell me I had not got in. It was the biggest disappointment of my life, and I locked myself in the bathroom till the tears subsided. On the phone he sounded as disappointed as I was, explaining that the teachers picking the team were from a private school in Chester, and that the majority of the squad selected came from their school. It was just another example of how money can buy you opportunity.

Years later, my youngest son, Daniel, played against that same school in the final of a schools cup. The Chester school had consistently won the cup in previous years; Daniel’s school had never even reached the final before. And yet they won. At the final whistle I nearly ran onto the pitch to complete the revenge by waving my victorious fist in front of the Chester school children, parents and staff. Thankfully, common sense told me that as my feelings of being wronged had occurred some thirty years earlier it was unlikely to have involved anyone on the other side of the pitch. Even so, the fact that their official school photographer was reluctant to take a team picture of our boys suggested to me that it was still an institution of tossers.

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