Bridges - We need to talk about ... Kevin Bridges

Kevin Bridges

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN BRIDGES

Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL , England

www.penguin.com

First published 2014

Copyright Kevin Bridges, 2014

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover image Colin Bell

All rights reserved

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologizes for any errors or omissions and would be grateful to be notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future editions of this book.

ISBN: 978-1-405-91377-5

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Dedicated to Addison

Its nearly 10 p.m. on a Friday night. The seat belt sign has just been turned off on my plane from Heathrow to Buenos Aires. Ive opened up my bag, which had previously been safely stowed away in the overhead locker, switched on my laptop, opened a new Word document and here we are, another comedian writes an autobiography.

I didnt intend to have started writing on this flight but after a failed attempt at conversing in Spanish with a fellow passenger, I need to look busy and pretend not to be out of my depth in Club World Plus.

I am evidently out of my depth, though. The guy has probably paid thousands for his ticket; I paid hundreds and would be sat at the opposite end of the cabin, but for a senior figure at British Airways introducing herself as a fan of my stand-up and offering a complimentary upgrade.

Extra legroom, a seat that reclines into a bed, a higher standard of food all complimentary, no four-figure sums of money required and no working-class guilt that naturally accompanies any extravagant purchase complimentary alcohol as well, and flight socks.

The socks, thats how the problem started, the fucking socks.

The guy had a Hispanic look, and he was putting on a pair of flight socks. Id taken Spanish lessons prior to this trip, so I know the Spanish for Where are the socks? I practised it a few times in my head, making sure of the correct tenses and all the specifics that make first-time foreign language learners think, Close enough, for fucks sake when theyre corrected.

I went in with full confidence, knowing fine well where the socks we located, but it wasnt about that. I didnt need this guys help finding them. I had a long flight ahead, I was on my own and feeling a strange sensation of panic.

I was looking for a friendly conversation and wishing to proudly showcase my new language skills. Mi amigo, dnde estn los calcetines? I asked, in a throwaway tone. It felt natural. Where did you get the socks, mate? is how Id hoped to sound.

I hoped to sound cool; it was a warning shot, a show of strength, fuelled by my own uncertainties, flying to Argentina on my own, a country where I know absolutely no one. It doesnt faze me, I speak the language, and Ill blend in. Itll be good. My only immediate concern is finding the flight socks.

The guy turned and looked at me; he looked at me far too long without speaking. It wasnt the atmosphere Id intended to create the question had to be answered, fast.

I didnt even want a spoken answer, a pointed finger would have sufficed. The reassurance and the feeling of self-satisfaction that Id conversed in Spanish was all that Id been looking for.

I wish Id hurried up with, Es tranquilo, tranquilo, mi amigo, and grabbed the socks out myself, but Id asked the question, Id committed.

Cal-seh-teen-es, he replied, correcting my pronunciation.

For the first time in years I felt myself blushing, a proper red face. Id hit a riddy, as its known in Glasgow. Riddy means red in Glasgow, and I have no idea why, like dug means dog. One change of a vowel and anyone not from the area is left baffled. It got worse, though. In that bottom drawer, just pull the little handle, hed gone on, in a Birmingham accent.

Hed corrected the Spanish in my question and then, in a show of zero confidence in my ability to understand the answer in a second language, hed replied in English.

Id been done, totally done.

Id had him down as Argentinian, South American at least, but he was just a well-tanned businessman from the Midlands, who spoke fluent Spanish. I tried to laugh, the small-talk department of my brain anxiously rifling through the Birmingham file: Whos your team, then, Villa? City? West Brom?

He just went back to his iPad, back to looking at Excel documents or spreadsheets or whatever else people in suits who work on the way to work look at on their iPads; they never just chill out and play Angry Gran.

I havent dressed with a potential upgrade in mind; I have a hooded jumper on, jeans and a pair of exhausted-looking Puma trainers. Id have bought new holiday trainers, as is the tradition, but my last day in the UK was spent trying to locate Argentinian Pesos. I never imagined it being so difficult, but it seems its a dying currency.

I havent followed the global economic downturn as closely as I should. As a stand-up comedian its important to know whats going on; youre a social commentator and you should know these things.

But Ive never fully understood the complexities of the financial crisis. I see it as being like one of those Sky Atlantic, HBO shows that everyone else is talking about; you put it on one night, but its season four, episode ten and you dont have a clue what is going on or who is who.

If you werent in it from the start, youve been left behind, so you just ignore it. This guy knows his economics, Id say. Definitely.

Cal-seh-teen-es.

Im all for being educated, but it was his condescending tone, speaking to me as though I was sat in first class wearing a hooded jumper, jeans and a pair of exhausted-looking Puma trainers.