I was wondering what part of my boring life I should blog about. I already blogged about window washing and gardening and kids and stuff and I will never,ever, ever blog about the paying day job because that is INCREDIBLY boring. Then I read 'A Novice Novelists' blog - here's a link
about a lady wearing a pair of purple satin hotpants and it reminded me of my Andy Warhol moment- even thoughI didn't know it was my Andy Warhol moment at the time.
I was a somewhat rotund child, svelte in comparison to what is called chubby today, but I liked my grub and I took no exercise, I was too busy reading. Of course I still wanted to wear fashionable clothes,and in the early Seventies hot-pants were the bee all and end all of fashion. My mother made most of our clothes and she made me a pair of baby-blue hot-pants. I was eleven years of age. I thought I was divine in those bloody hot-pants. Actually when I look at the photos now, I did look cute in them.
Anyway, one day my father asked me to go to the shop to buy him 20 Major. Great, an excuse to walk up the road showing off my hot hot-pants. There were a crowd of boys on the green space opposite our house, some kicking a football about, othere lying on the grass watching 'the match'. Before I got to the shop ( it was no more than 200 yards from the house) a shout went up from the boys.
'Hey Walshie, you've got a fat arse!'
I was horrified, I wanted to be noticed but not like that. I turned on my heel and ran, crying, back to the house. I went to my Dad and told him what had happened.
'Did ye get the fags?' he asked
'No, and I'm not going out again until they're all gone?'
'Which one was it called ye names?'
'I think it was that Paul Hewson from Cedarwood.'
And my big brave Daddy went out and defended my honour, he chased Paul Hewson (now known as Bono) around the green aiming kicks at his behind and saying ' Now, fat arse, let's see who'll have a fat arse after this.'
I watched from behind the net curtains in the sitting room of out house, still crying but laughing at the sight. I never wore the hotpants again, which was a shame because they really were lovely. I never confirmed who had actually called me names and I think poor old Paul Hewson got a raw deal, he was hung drawn and quartered without a trial but after he became Bono we decided to leave him as the culprit, why ruin a good story?
I do have a fat arse now, but Bono - I didn't then. Are you sorry? Me Da says 'sorry' for trying to kick you around the green on a hot summers day in 1972.