Millican - How to be champion: my autobiography

To the loves of my life, Gary and Tuvok

Championadjective BRITISH informal dialect

. Excellent. Thank ye, lad, the farmer said. Thats champion.

WHICH IS A typical dictionary boffins idea of what a northerner sounds like. As soon as Ive milked these cows and egged these chickens, Ill get cracking on my book. Ive called it How to Be Champion because thats what I always strive for. Being champion. And I wanted

I wanted to make it clear that your life doesnt need to be perfect; you dont need to look a certain way to be happy. You dont need to be amazing at everything all of the time. I am, at times, a shoddy daughter, friend, person. Not wife, though. Always brilliant at that. Isnt that right, Gary? Hes shouting What? from the other room but Im choosing to hear Yes. But I try my best and I try to be champion. Champion is Geordie for good or alright. But champion is a better word than alright. Alright can mean great.

Hows the new relationship going?

Its alright!

But it can also mean not quite shit but teetering.

Hows the sex?

Its al-right. Sad-face emoticon. Need-to-wank-as-soon-as-hes-left emoticon.

Thats why emoticons exist. Because some words have too many meanings. Take better as another example. It can mean slightly improved.

Hows the sex now youve bought him that manual?

Its bet-ter. Zig-zag mouth emoticon.

Or it can mean totally better. Maximum better.

Hows the genital warts?

Better. All cleared up. Gone away. You cant even tell my cock used to look like a witchs chin.

Champion is a much better word. As a noun, it means the best, victorious, a winner. As in We Are the Champions. It says a lot about you whether the Queen anthem just went through your head or the theme tune to brilliant kids TV show We. Are. The. Champions. De de, de der der. Thats not how I mean it. Im all about the adjective. Champion means canny means pretty good means not bad means fair to middling means cracking on with life means nowts a bother. Thats what I want. To always be champion. I think its important not to give yourself the pressure of having to be amazing all the time. Its also sometimes used as a verb. Because of Standard Issue, my no-bullshit womens podcast, Im often referred to as championing women. Championing. Im pretty sure thats also French for mushroom.

The title of this book was picked from a list of potentials. I knew I wanted something that was very me. Maybe using a word people associate with me, like nunny or claggy. The obvious title there is perhaps a little graphic though generally true. What about something super-Geordie like Gaan Canny, I Love Pasties or Hadaway and Shite? With the latter there was a worry people would think it was an aggressive autobiography from the popular nineties pop star who asked What Is Love? repeatedly while I danced around De Niros in South Shields with patent-leather chunky heels and a Mirage and lemonade. I tried to think of what a tabloid newspaper might call my book and came up with Cakey Cakey Fat Cunt.

I asked my husband Gary, who is also a comic and is a genius with words, to help me. I said I liked the word champion and maybe he could come up with some wordplay around that. Now, one thing you need to know about my husband is that he ranks wordplay way above his marriage or indeed anyones feelings. His suggestion: Heavyweight Champion. He also suggested using the phrase older and wider in the blurb. I have helped him with the title for his next tour: Short jokes. Fat man. And, hilariously, hes actually considering using it.

Speaking of massive tips, most chapters have How To Be Champion tips at the end.

IM GUESSING YOUVE bought my book because you know the basics about me (glasses, cake, potty mouth) and would like to know more. Well, before we get into the nitty gritty, here are six stories that sum me up. So if youre cramming for your NVQ in Sarah Millican, inhale these first.

Im a performer who as a kid was afraid to perform. I was quiet as a mouse at school,

I was destined to tell jokes for a living. For Halloween my sister Victoria, being six years older than me, decided she was too old to take this ten-year-old out, so my mam suggested I trick or treated on my own. Great idea, but I was only allowed to trick or treat our house. So I used to go out of the back door and walk around the block, which took less than two minutes, wearing a shawl that was covered in fake blood from Strand, the local card shop. Id knock on the front door and my mam would leave it a few minutes, to make it exciting. What if she didnt answer? Then shed open the door and Id say, Trick or treat? Shed always say trick and Id tell her a couple of jokes that Id memorised from Janet and Alan Ahlbergs The Ha Ha Bonk Book, which was the first book in my imaginary library (ordered alphabetically, obvs). Then shed give me a mini Milky Way and Id go in the house. And thats my job now. But I get cash instead of mini Milky Ways and its all my own work.

I have a big working-class chip on my shoulder. The first time I bought a first-class train ticket it was by accident, and when the conductor came along to where I was sitting in standard class he said, You should be along there, pointing to the first-class carriage. I said, Oh no, I dont think so. I thought everyone would look like Downton Abbey and I was putting my make-up on out of a sandwich bag. He pointed to the ticket and said, It says first class, look. I said, Oh no, I dont think Id feel comfortable in first class, to which he replied, Oh no, theres plenty of your sort down there. Cheeky fucker.

Im quite dull. I had a hash cake in Amsterdam and fell asleep complaining the cake was rubbish.

Im rubbish at sticking to things. I tried the clarinet and marriage, didnt put the work in and had them both taken off me. Trying things helps you find out who you are. I am a non-musical married divorcee who takes pictures of puddings and is still partial to Phillip Schofield. Hey, not everyone is an adventurer, right?

I love my animals. One of the best days of my whole life was when a veterinary nurse said I could put clothes on my dog. As per the adoption rules, hed had his gentlemans surgery (genitalman? Future Marvel character, surely) and wed been assured hed bounce back in twenty-four hours or so. It took him a month to recover. A month. He didnt eat or drink for days; we were beside ourselves. Also, he wasnt great with the cones. We tried rigid ones; he refused to move. We tried the floppy ones; hed just get out of them. We were struggling with how to stop him having access to his stitches when the veterinary nurse said we could put some pants on him. I didnt need asking twice. We stood in Asda kids section puzzling over which size hed be. We got age four as he was age four. I cut a hole out of the bum for his tail and put them on him, taking up the slack with a hairband. He didnt seem to mind them on, but he growled when we tried to take them off or put them back on after a wee, so we went back to trying the cones. But for two glorious hours I had a medical professionals permission to put pants on my dog. And yes, theres a photo in the photo section. Go, go. Ill wait.

HOW TO BE CHAMPION

Remember something you were good at as a kid and bring it back as a hobby now that youre an adult. I gave gardening a go and also crying whenever I drop something on the floor and cant find it. Crying always makes it appear again, oddly.