Wresting was a popular sport at the time, the late 1970’s. The days of Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks and Kendo Nagasaki, tag team wrestling and Saturday afternoon bouts aired on TV. Late every Saturday afternoon we would pile onto the sofas in the living room to watch the latest bouts, shouting and cheering on our favourites and booing if they lost.
Having had a busy day one Saturday, washing, drying and clipping numerous dogs, Lily and I finished up and I made my way to the living room, where I could hear the familiar boos and cheers.
Flopping down in an armchair, already exhausted, Larry and Sylvie both turned to me. With a snarl, Larry said “What do you think you’re doing? Dinner won’t cook its f*****g self!” I just stared in disbelief. I had worked all day whilst the others did god knows what, and now ,whilst they sat there, I would have to cook dinner for them.
I desperately wanted to argue, but the look on Larry’s face warned me not to dare to open my mouth. I was given instructions what to cook, and heaving my tired body up out of the chair, I made my way to the kitchen.
Standing at the sink, peeling a large bowl full of potatoes, I sobbed, suddenly I felt as though I couldn’t go on, I felt as though it was all going to kill me. I was being eroded away, worn down, mentally and physically.
There was an overwhelming sense of darkness, weary, aching bones , loneliness, isolation and a complete and utter sadness. It never entered my head at that time, the fact that, at some point I would grow up, become an adult, be able to get out from it all. That eventually, this would all be a distant memory.
At that moment, I just thought that this was my life for ever and it felt as though I was in hell.