Living it Arg Page 3

  ‘I’m too scared, Mum, they’re older than me. They’re rough boys and they live down by the station. They pick on me in school and they’ve also chased me when they’ve seen me out in the streets.’

  ‘OK, you don’t need to worry any more, James. We’ll sort this out. I think I should go and see the headteacher.’

  ‘No, please don’t, Mum! Everyone’ll think I’m a grass and it’ll only make it worse.’

  ‘But, James, it’s for the best.’

  ‘No, Mum! Please don’t.’

  My mum paused for a second to think things over. She may be a big softie around the home but she’s also a very strong character and she wasn’t about to let anyone get away with upsetting her son.

  ‘Lots of children get picked on, James,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes the best thing to do is to learn to stand up to the bullies and make them leave you alone.’

  ‘But how can I do that, Mum?’

  ‘Well, your Uncle Gerry goes to a martial-arts class. Maybe he can teach you a little bit about how to defend yourself,’ she said. ‘All you need is some confidence. I’ll be here to support you.’

  My mum was like a rock.

  ‘I’m going to speak to Uncle Gerry now,’ she vowed.

  My Uncle Gerry is very sporting and at the time he was a regular at a karate school in Woodford Green. I’d spent a lot of time with him round at Granddad Seamus’s house and I liked the idea of his being able to help me. When he heard what had been happening he was only too happy to get involved.

  ‘We’ll soon teach you how to defend yourself. You’ll enjoy coming to the martial-arts lessons – they’re good fun,’ he promised.

  Uncle Gerry found out that there was a beginners’ class due to start up soon and he agreed to enrol me. I was slightly nervous but I wanted to go along. I was a big fan of the movie The Karate Kid, which is about a boy called Daniel who stands up to some bullies after learning to defend himself. Maybe I could be just like Daniel-san. I also liked the film 3 Ninjas, which is all about three young children who practised martial arts.

  If they can do it, then so can I, I vowed.

  I went along to the classes with Uncle Gerry and I enjoyed it. We did a mixture of fitness work and technical work, during which you would learn how to block and strike. Part of it involved the instructor trying to target you with a big stick, which you would learn to dodge. In truth, it was very basic stuff for beginners, but I was only a small primary school kid and it felt very grown up at the time.

  After a while I felt my confidence begin to grow and I realised that I was capable of standing up for myself. Of course, I was still terrified when it came to defending myself in school, but I knew that I had to give it my best shot.

  The showdown happened one day when I was in the playground during a game of football. It was one of those games where there are dozens of boys on each side and I was milling around with the other kids, not really taking much interest. Suddenly, the stocky bully came rushing by and barged into me.

  ‘What are you doing here, you prick?’ he yelled.

  My heart was thumping like hell and I felt sick inside, but I knew that I had to be brave. It was now or never. When he went to grab me I dodged him and hit back with a strike move.

  Bang!

  My hand connected with his lip. The boy staggered backwards and I was surprised to see blood on his mouth. It wasn’t a perfect karate move, but it was enough to take him by surprise.

  Oh, no! I thought. I’m really in for it now!

  I turned on my heels and ran away as fast as I could, with the angry bully chasing after me in a fury.

  ‘Come back here. I’m going to kill you,’ he bellowed.

  He chased me across the playground. I have no idea what I would have done if he’d caught me on my own, but luckily Richard and David came to my aid. There was a scuffle but they managed to grab him and hold him back while he shouted wild threats at me.

  ‘You’re going to get it, you little idiot! I’m going to beat the hell out of you!’ he screamed.

  It caused quite a stir in the playground but, thankfully, a teacher came running over to break it up. I was marched down to the main office in the school and asked to give an explanation. The teacher was called Miss Saunders and at first I was worried that I was in big trouble.

  ‘Why did you lash out in the playground like that? You’ve cut that poor boy’s lip,’ she said sternly.

  I admitted that I’d hit the older boy, but I explained that he and his mate had been picking on me for some time. While I was talking I started to cry so I think Miss Saunders must have known that I was telling the truth.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, but I didn’t start it,’ I sobbed. ‘They’ve been making my life hell and I was afraid of them. I was only sticking up for myself because he barged into me.’

  Luckily, the teachers accepted my version of what happened, although I still got told off for hitting the older boy. The two bullies also got a telling-off and the school made it clear they’d be keeping an eye on all of us in future.

  After that, I was still nervous whenever I saw either boy, but the bullying stopped. They gave me some filthy looks but that was all. I continued to avoid coming face to face with them whenever I could, but at least now they were no longer on my case.

  Looking back, I am glad my family encouraged me to defend myself. I managed to avoid fights for the rest of my time in school, but I had learned an important lesson in life: that sometimes you have to stand up for yourself. My advice to anybody who’s being bullied today is: don’t suffer in silence; make sure you tell somebody in your family; and get help. There are also lots of anti-bullying groups online these days where you can get advice.

  You don’t necessarily have to take the route that I did, but it worked for me. I think I was wrong to be worried about being labelled a grass. It’s not grassing if someone is picking on you and you need to put a stop to it, so don’t be afraid to tell a teacher if that’s the only thing you can do.

  I carried on with my karate for a while, but I eventually let it lapse after a few months. I enjoyed all the martial-arts noises that accompanied the various moves, but I must admit that amateur dramatics were always more my style. I’d rather tread the boards in the theatre by playing the Karate Kid on stage than do it for real.

  Away from school I began to spend more and more time doing amateur dramatics. I got my first big break on stage when the group that I’d joined decided to host a production of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. I thought I’d only get a role as a workhouse boy but I ended up being in the running for the lead role as Oliver. It wasn’t a musical version, so there was no singing involved, but I still had to spend ages learning all the lines.

  I’d practise for hours and hours upstairs in my bedroom until I thought I had everything perfect. If I am honest, I probably put a lot more effort into learning that script than I ever did for my work at school. Drama was something that felt natural and fun, whereas school work could be a bit of a chore.

  My audition went well and, when a phone call later came through from the theatre group, my mum answered it.

  ‘Congratulations, James! You’ve got the part. I’m so proud of you,’ she told me, giving me a great big hug.

  I couldn’t wait to tell all my mates and I even got my picture in the local paper. It was only a tiny little production but I felt like a huge celebrity.

  Arg had finally arrived!

  When the big occasion of the first night arrived, all my family came to see me, including Granddad Seamus, who was pleased as punch for me. My headmistress from my primary school was also in the audience, so I was a bag of nerves. I was terrified that I’d forget my lines, but thankfully all that hard work learning the script paid off.

  The first night went well, although there was one part of the show that caused a bit of a ruffle with Seamus. There was a scene where I had to be manhandled in a very rough way by one of the a
ctors. It was only make-believe, but of course everyone wanted it to look as real as possible, so the actor had to be quite forceful with me as he pushed me around the stage.

  Unfortunately, Seamus thought that my colleague was a bit too rough. In fact my granddad was furious because he reckoned my treatment was completely OTT. Seamus was all in favour of running up onto the stage to sort the geezer out on my behalf! Thankfully, Mum persuaded him not to do it, but that was Seamus all over: no grandson of his was going to be roughed up on stage, even if it was in the script.

  The production was a big success and I later went on to land the role of the Artful Dodger in the musical version of the story, Oliver!. Of course, this involved singing the famous song ‘Consider Yourself’, so it was a new skill I had to master. I’d always wanted to play the Artful Dodger because he was a cheeky chappie, just like me. I felt as if I had won the lottery when I got the part.

  I was twelve by this stage and, thankfully, my asthma didn’t interfere with the singing and dancing. I just relaxed and let myself get into the natural rhythm of things. It was a very well-directed show. All the mums and dads who came to see it reckoned that the production was good enough to have been put on in the West End.

  By now I was attending secondary school, having left St Anthony’s to attend the Trinity Catholic High School in Woodford Green. On my first day I was terrified. As I walked to school I was worried that I’d meet more bullies.

  Oh, my God! I thought. Am I going to get picked on again, or are people going to want to start fights with me?

  Richard, David and I all hoped that we would be in the same class, but it turned out that Richard was sent off to another one, leaving David and me together. We got a bit tearful about it and we tried to persuade the teachers to change things, but they refused. I needn’t have worried, because I still managed to stay friends with Richard and we’re still mates today.

  I didn’t have any more problems with bullies, either – although I did experience a nasty incident on my fourteenth birthday. There was a custom in our school called ‘birthday beats’, whereby if it was your birthday anybody was entitled to come up and punch you hard on the arm or elsewhere, reigning down one blow for every year of your age. A fourteenth birthday meant fourteen punches. If you were clever about it, you would keep your birthday a secret in order to escape a bit of a battering. You would be petrified. Unfortunately, in my case, it went around the school like wildfire that my birthday was coming up.

  There seemed to be scores of kids all screaming: ‘Arg’s fourteen tomorrow. Let’s give him the birthday beats!’

  It meant I was in line for a real pasting: fourteen punches over and over again, all day long. I was so scared that I nearly bunked off school that morning, but I went in, feeling sick with fear. It started straightaway.

  ‘Arg! It’s your birrthdaaayyy!’ Whack!

  ‘Happy fourteenth!’ Whack!

  ‘Hello, birthday boy!’ Whack!

  One kid punched me full pelt with all his strength on my upper arm and I remember just standing there and having to take the pain. Afterwards, I went into the toilets and started crying and by lunchtime I was a wreck. I started to get out of breath due to the stress and my asthma began to play up, so I had to take my inhaler to calm myself down.

  I kept thinking, Oh, my God! I’ve got bruises all over my arm and everyone’s going to beat me up.

  Thankfully, a kid I knew in the year above me called Chris took pity on me. He must have seen how upset I was because he ordered all the other kids to lay off me. I was grateful, because without him I’d have got a right pasting. I’d survived the birthday beats.

  I fell into a crowd of popular kids at Trinity. There were eleven of us and we called ourselves The Famous Eleven. I wasn’t the boy who got all the girls or the one who was the best at football, but I think my mates regarded me as a bit of a ‘cool geek’, if that makes sense.

  Pretty soon, everyone knew who I was, so I suppose they must have liked my personality. Everybody called me Arg, rather than James, and the nickname stuck with me for the rest of my life. As I say, I was a bit of a donut at times but I just tried to be a lovable character – which was my way of keeping out of confrontations.

  Trinity was a good school and I generally liked all the teachers, although I loved messing about and occasionally got told off for it. I would wait until the teacher turned around to write something on the board and then I’d chuck a big pencil rubber at one of my mates. I also used to do silly things such as shout something out at random in class in order to get attention, or I would throw paper aeroplanes. My mates and I would play this silly game in which I’d have to try to walk around the classroom in circles. The idea was to do as many circuits as possible without the teacher noticing. It didn’t always work.

  ‘Argent! What the hell are you playing at?’ the teacher would bellow.

  I was also always being told off for talking too much to my mates in the classroom. I loved all the banter of school life but it got to the point where I started to get letters sent home for bad behaviour or for not doing my homework.

  I was petrified that my dad would tell me off, so I used to get up every morning and run down to check the post. If there was anything addressed to ‘Mr & Mrs Argent’ I knew that, nine times out of ten, it would be a letter from the school. I’d quickly open it to check the contents before ripping it up.

  Sometimes, the odd letter would sneak through and I’d get a telling-off from my dad. I could get away with murder with Mum because she’s a big softie, but Dad would put me in my place. He was always very fair, but, like all good dads, he knew where to draw the line.

  Throughout most of my time in school I stayed passionate about the theatre. After playing the Artful Dodger, I went on to land a number of other really good roles, many of which were performed at the Kenneth More Theatre in Ilford. I played Edmund in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; I was the lead in David Copperfield; Miles in The Turn of The Screw; and Enjolras in Les Misérables. I had a fantastic time in amateur dramatics and got on really well with all the older people I met. There were also lots of great girls my age to talk to. If anybody reading this thinks they’ve got it in them to do the same I strongly urge them to give it a go. It’s never too late to start, and if an ordinary down-to-earth bloke like me can make a good go of it I am sure you can too.

  If you’ve watched The Only Way Is Essex, you’ll probably know that there’s a funny story connected to my time at the Kenneth More Theatre. Every year they hold a big event known locally as the ‘Kennys’. This is the Essex answer to the Oscars and everyone dresses up in a black-tie outfit to celebrate all the productions that have been staged over that year. The Kenny Awards are then given out to the best performers.

  I was delighted when I was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for the Artful Dodger and secretly I was convinced I would win. But, when the awards ceremony came along, the Kenny went to somebody else.

  Bloody Kennys! I thought. I’m not going to come along to them again!

  But of course I did go again, because by now I was mad about the theatre. I was sitting at the awards a couple of years later when the theatre owner came on stage to present a special award, which was known as the Judy Walker Award for Young Performer of the Year. I wasn’t nominated for anything as far as I knew. I was just there to enjoy the awards ceremony.

  ‘The winner of the special award this year is a young boy who has been performing shows here for a number of years,’ the theatre boss told the audience. I wondered who it might be. ‘He has played Oliver Twist’

  Oh, I played him, too, I thought.

  ‘And he has played the Artful Dodger’

  I’ve played the Artful Dodger too; that’s mad.

  ‘And he’s played David Copperfield.’

  Only when I heard him say that did I clock that I was the one he was talking about. I was shaking and full of adrenaline when I went up to receive my Kenny. It was the very best feeling, and it soun
ds silly but I treasured that award as if it were a real Oscar!

  When I started to appear in TOWIE I was still very proud of it, so much so that I took it around to show Gemma Collins, whom I was dating at the time. I ended up leaving it at her flat. After Gemma and I split up I was desperate to get it back, but Gemma kept stalling, so some of the boys and I launched Operation Save Kenny. Joey Essex volunteered to go round to Gemma’s for a drink and then he simply grabbed my Kenny Award and legged it outside.

  Thankfully, I got it back.

  It was during the later years of secondary school that I started to put on a bit of weight. My mum says that I comfort-eat, and she is probably right. I’m someone who really enjoys his food. I love a big fried breakfast with egg, bacon, sausage and all the trimmings, and I can follow it up by eating a big lunch and dinner. I suppose it was my love of food that made me take food technology as a GCSE subject – although I preferred to call it ‘cooking and eating’. I wasn’t huge by this stage – the real weight gain came after I left school – but I was definitely beginning to grow.

  It was while I was at Trinity that I had my first experiences with alcohol. My mates and I would take part in a practice we called ‘street ratting’, which would involve gathering together outside to drink bottles of WKD or whatever else we could get our hands on. We were too young to drink in pubs or bars, so we’d rely on somebody who looked old enough to buy us booze. We’d go out on a Friday and drink it in the streets. I liked the effect that it had on me, but I never went over the top. We’d just run up and down making a noise, but it was all fairly harmless.

  I didn’t do too badly at school academically. I took nine GCSEs and got four Bs (in English language and literature, food technology and drama) plus three Cs and a D. Altogether, it was enough of a tally for me to take my A-levels, but trying for a place at university wasn’t something I was interested in.

  I found A-levels extremely difficult. I took media, film, English and drama. Even though I had done well in my GCSEs and I was obviously not an idiot, I found A-levels too hard – they were out of my comfort zone. The one subject I thought I would have excelled at was drama, but the A-level course turned out to be a disaster. The performance side of my drama was flying, but I had difficulty keeping up with the coursework. The teacher always used to give me a hard time and I wondered whether he didn’t like the fact that I’d done a lot of amateur dramatics outside of school.