Last year, I watched a performance that had a bit of a profound affect on me and those who watched it.
Fat Blokes was a performance from Scottee and four other fat blokes (see what he did there). It covered their experiences being fat. A little about maybe why they were fat. The impact it has on their lives. Their sexuality. Their love lives. Their families.
It resonated hard. And it touched on the correlation between poverty and weight. There’s one line that sticks with me. ‘It’s not a lot, but there’s plenty of it’. Which for me really hit home. So when I saw Scottee was performing Class, I knew I had to go.
I won’t reveal too much, whether you’re working class, middle class, or downright posh, you should go. It’s emotional. And it asks questions. And it reminded me of a lot of my past. I’m still now wondering with the stuff I’ve forgotten, how much of it is me moving on, and how much of it was shame.
You see I come from a working class background. My parents, my grandparents. For me, I’m in that weird in between place, that straddles the world between working class and middle class. Growing up, we owned our house, but it was by the skin of our teeth. We didn’t have holidays. Most of our clothes were hand-me-downs, and if not, they were off the market. My dad had a garden or an allotment, so whereas Scottee talked about eating from tins, we ate a lot of vegetables. Winter was for stews, summer for salads.
I still dislike stew.
I didn’t have fancy haircuts or the newest trainers. I didn’t have jeans until a pair of hand me downs find their way to me when I was ten. Forget about a HEAD bag. I’ve been tempted now they’re back to get one, just so I can tick that box off my wish list once and for all. It’s only been twenty odd years.
My friends, for the most part, were working class. I’d hop on a bus to Stretford (we could stretch to 10p), to stay at my friends house on a council estate regularly. Her family were well known to the police. I can remember having to leave a room quickly without explanation and sent off to someone else’s place. You didn’t ask questions. You were either going to be lied to, or given a look that spoke volumes.
There was violence. There was misogyny. There was alcoholism, and addiction. Scottee mentions ‘good’ drunks. And I know exactly what he means. There are those for whom you can understand where the need to hide in the bottom of a bottle comes from. Where it makes things feel that little bit better.
There’s a sexualisation of girls that comes really early. And there are stories I can tell… I’d forgotten about some of them. At the time they were just… Normal. Now, forget mum, I think I’m horrified.
I finished school and went into an apprenticeship. I worked from the age of 15. There were three other kids at home, and I didn’t fancy college. Plus I figured if I was working, I’d have less of an impact on my parents, so my sisters and brother might have a chance to go to college instead.
When my parents split, my dad went to live further north, my mum and the rest of the family went into a council housing in Partington. Or Party Town as it’s known locally. Partington always feels to me like the Tory council didn’t know what to do with the poor people, so they isolated, and put them all together in the same place. Out of sight, out of mind.
And it still feels like that. There are a lot of people in poverty. In the working class. 14 million. Million. Roll that word around your mouth a bit. Million. It’s a big number. And it’s not getting any smaller. But they’re not seen. Not heard.
I live next door to those in poverty. Downstairs, upstairs, across the communal stairwell. I live next door to addicts, and those with disabilities. They can’t work, they use their addictions to medicate. But they’re the leeches, according to the media, they won’t work.
They’re not our problem, right? I mean, it’s their fault. They could pull themselves out of poverty. (spoiler alert, repeated studies have shown it to be damn near impossible). They could stop wasting their money on big tellies and beer to avoid dealing with their trauma, and stress. They could get a job. Stop buying iPhones and start working.
Have you even considered trying to apply for a job, or access services without a mobile phone, or computer? Think about it. Just once. Go through the process. Tell me how far you get. Society has made it impossible for you to not own a smart phone.
Our views of other people, because they are people, are being manipulated.
Do me a favour. Go and watch this. Open your eyes a bit.
A lot of us are only a couple of pay cheques away from becoming one of the working class.