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Gaz (And My Parsnip)
The Autobiography of Geordie Shore's Ultimate Lad
By Gary Beadle, Tina Campanella John Blake Publishing Ltd
Copyright © 2015 Gary Beadle and Tina Campanella
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-78418-412-4
CHAPTER 1
TOUCH AND GO
I don't shy away from anything. As you'll find out as you read this book, that's how I got on Geordie Shore and that's how I've always lived my life – literally from the moment I was born.
I'm also a bit competitive. Okay, okay, I'm proper competitive. I don't like anything or anyone to beat me and I never have. You only have to watch me and my mate Scott going head to head on the show to see that.
But it's this attitude that's got me to where I am today, and I like to think it's probably the only reason I'm even alive. Because when I was born on 22 March 1988, in Hexham, Northumberland, no one could have fancied my chances much.
Apparently I couldn't wait to turn up and start causing trouble, because I was born more than two weeks earlier than I should have been.
I actually spent the first two years of my life in and out of hospital with really bad asthma. And I mean really bad. Bad enough to make me regularly stop breathing.
Mam – her name's Shirley – was a trooper. She already had one kid, my sister Claire, who was two when I came along, plus she had a job in a bank, and now suddenly she had a kid who kept threatening to die on her. It can't have been easy, that's for sure.
The first time I had an asthma attack I was literally a newborn and Mam was terrified. She'd found me all blue and floppy in my cot and called 999 in a panic.
They told her to bring me in, because there was no time for an ambulance and every second mattered if I was going to survive. My tiny airways were closing fast and starving me of oxygen. I can't imagine how scared Mam must have been back then.
My dad, Kevin, drove us to hospital and Mam was on the phone to a doctor the whole time. He kept telling her to keep me conscious, so she repeatedly slapped me in the face, yelling: 'Keep awake!'
But it was no good, and I had lapsed into unconsciousness by the time we arrived at A&E. Quick-thinking doctors stuck me in an oxygen tent, where I would stay for days. No one could tell if it was already too late.
It was touch-and-go for a long time, and the docs told Mam later that if she hadn't found me at the exact moment she did I would have died in my bed. My death would have been attributed to cot death and that would have been the end of me.
I obviously don't remember any of that terrible time, but after I survived that first attack I practically lived in the hospital. Mam says that even then I had an eye for the ladies. I used to smile at the fittest nurses (I've always had good taste) and they'd tell her I was definitely going to be a heartbreaker when I grew up. Apparently a great big grin works like a charm on the lasses, no matter how old you are.
I was put on loads of steroids to strengthen my lungs and an asthma medication called Ventolin to open my airways, plus I had to wear a nebuliser when I went to sleep. This was a massive piece of kit with a mask attached to it, and I had to wear it all night to keep me breathing. Proper sexy, that's for sure.
But I didn't really know any different, and I was always a happy kid, Mam saw to that. She never showed me how scared she was, she just devoted herself to looking after me and making sure I had an amazing childhood.
My parents split up when I was around three, and I remember very clearly Dad leaving the house on that day. He was a part-time singer in a band and was always out at night performing in clubs and pubs – a bit like me now, I guess – so I don't really remember him being around all the time when I was really little. But that day he packed his bags and walked out and I remember asking, 'Where's Dad going?'
Mam didn't really know what to say, but she made sure that coming from what was termed a 'broken home' back then never affected either me or my sister.
After my parents divorced, they were always friendly and I'd see Dad every Saturday, so we had regular contact. It was great. He'd walk in and sit at the same kitchen table, just as he had when they were married, and Mam would make him a cuppa like she always had. He was never an absent dad or anything. Between us we all made it work and we're still a very close family today.
Having asthma didn't stop me being an outdoorsy kid. I grew up on a neat and tidy estate called Ruskin Court, in a small village called Prudhoe, about eight miles outside of Newcastle. I was always out and about doing something. I hated being cooped up indoors.
I used to come tearing down the road on my skateboard or bike and I was always falling over and coming home with cuts and bruises. Mam says now that she could hardly keep up with the things I was doing, because it was always something different. I picked up new skills very easily, especially if there was a ball involved.
Mam always tells this one story: it was a summer's evening and I was outside playing tennis with these two ten-year-old lads. I was hitting the ball all over the place, using nice clean serves, running them ragged, until eventually she came out to fetch me home and to bed. When she got to us, the two older lads were completely out of breath while I was just grinning, tennis racket in hand.
'How old is Gary?' they asked her, wheezing. They were a little embarrassed when she told them I was only three.
At that age I didn't seem to understand that I was really ill and I had no fear at all. I threw myself into everything I did so I must have been a right handful. Although Mam was too nervous at first to take me overseas because of my condition, we always had amazing holidays and days out. We visited water parks and went go-karting and she always made sure we had something fun to look forward to.
When I was old enough to go to school, Mam was still cautious about leaving me alone, so she got a job as a dinner lady there so as to be on the spot in case anything went wrong. Anything could set off my asthma – humid weather, frosty conditions, a cat strolling by – my airways would close and I'd drop to my knees and Mam would have to race me to the hospital. Again.
At my first school, Prudhoe West First School, I loved chasing all the girls in the playground. They'd always tell Mam that they were my girlfriends and I'd innocently pretend I didn't know what she was on about. But I did like having the girls after me, even then.
I may have always been active, but because of the asthma I did have my limits. I noticed that the other kids could keep going for ever while I often struggled to breathe and I didn't like it at all. It was very frustrating.
If I got out of breath I never wanted anyone to know, so I'd hide behind Mam's legs in the playground and ask her to cover for me. It made me determined to beat whatever it was that was stopping me, so I took up every sport there was, in order to get fitter. And I especially liked competitive sport.
Our first proper holiday was to Tenerife where we went when I was about four. Once Mam got a little less scared about me collapsing and dying we holidayed there a couple of times every year without fail.
She bought me this mint T-shirt to wear on my first trip over there – a bit of a warning to everyone, I guess. It read: 'Here comes trouble' ...
In the resorts, I'd ask her for spare change and go and challenge the older lads to a game of pool. I didn't really know what I was doing but I figured it out pretty quickly, just so I could beat them. I couldn't even see over the table without standing on a chair, but I'd get the balls down, somehow.
They always held these competitions in the kids' club, where they gave out brightly coloured certificates to the winners. It was like showing a red rag to a bull: I needed to win them – all of them. Whether it was swimming, darts, table tennis ... Whatever the contest, I had my eye on winning it.
Mam used to tell me I had to just enjoy taking part, and don't get me wrong, I did, but it was the winning I was most interested in. I just loved being the best.
She taught me how to swim from a very young age and me and my sister were always in swimming galas. Claire used to train all the time and would win the odd bronze and silver medal, while I just turned up to compete and scooped up all the golds through sheer determination.
I may have been good but that didn't mean I didn't occasionally suffer from nerves. I regularly swam for the county but when it got more serious than that I worried I wouldn't win and sometimes that made me bottle it.
And I remember arriving for one important gala and looking at the water and just deciding I wasn't going to get in. Mam tried to convince me, but once my mind is made up I'm like a drunk Geordie Shore girl – there's no moving me. I just freaked out and walked away.
It might not seem like it now, but I was actually quite a shy child. I had to really push myself to be the centre of everything, and the easiest way was by winning things, or making everyone laugh.
My grandparents lived nearby and we spent a lot of time with them. My grandad was hilarious, always saying something sarcastic and I saw how happy everyone was when they were laughing. So, following his example, I'd always be cracking jokes or saying stupid things and I did make friends quickly.
At my first school in Prudhoe, the teachers would probably have described me as a cheeky little chap. I was always the one who would push them that bit too far. I couldn't help myself. Whenever they said something like 'the next kid who laughs gets a detention' – I'd be the one who instantly giggled.
I never had bad reports though. My grades were always high and my homework was always done. It was just that I liked to entertain everyone. At home my family could never get a word in, but that was mainly because they were generally laughing at me.
Mam used to have all the neighbours round on New Year's Eve because she couldn't go out – she had us to look after – and I'd often sneak down to put on a show.
I thought tractors were proper mint when I was a kid, and Mam bought me this little ride-along tractor with a trailer. I'd get on it and show off perfect three-point turns in the lounge until the clock struck midnight.
Our house was the house all the kids gathered in at the weekends. Mam mothered everyone and she didn't bat an eyelid at having 10 or 12 kids in the garden, all racing around. I had football posts set up so that we could kick the ball around for hours.
My best mate on the estate was a lad called Greg Orrock, and we were always getting into scrapes together. We'd go on 'missions', leaving the house first thing and not coming back until it was dark. We'd ride for miles and miles just exploring and building things. We lived in a safe area and I had a lot of freedom really.
We even used to go into the woods near our house and make mini campfires, but that all stopped when one of them got dangerously out of control. Usually they'd only be tiny little fires, and once we'd had our fun we'd put them out with a bottle of water fairly easily. But this one time our flickering flames got too big, too fast and there was nothing we could do to stop it spreading.
We legged it back to my house and watched as the fire engines turned up to sort it out. I remember Mam wondering what all the fuss was about and then trying to guess how it had happened. I never confessed, though I guess I'm confessing to it now. Sorry Mam.
The worst bother I got into was when I was nine. I'd bought a bunch of cheap plastic pellet guns in Tenerife from one of the many market stalls, and when I got back from holiday me and the lads used them to shoot at each other.
It was daft, but all kids are daft when they get together and it was just a bit of harmless fun. We were having a right giggle playing at being Rambo until an old lady who lived nearby came out to see what was going on. Some kid said innocently, 'Oh there's a group of lads with guns and they're firing at us.'
She got straight on the phone and called the police and suddenly the gun squad, the ones in Armed Response Vehicles, was preparing to surround my village.
We didn't know any of this had happened until we heard police sirens getting louder and louder, obviously coming our way. A few cop cars appeared and suddenly a group of coppers were running at us, full pelt. We didn't stop to find out why because we were terrified. We just legged it into the woods. When we got to the other side we stopped and stared: there were 10 police cars on the road ahead of us, forming a blockade, and policemen were everywhere.
They were all wearing bulletproof vests and yelling: 'STOP! Put it down!'
I looked at the gun, which was still in my hand: ah ... It all made sense.
'It's plastic!' I yelled back, waving it about a bit for them to see. But they weren't taking any chances.
'Put it down!' they repeated.
So we all did.
As they bundled us all into separate cars we were still protesting that we'd done nothing wrong. They drove me back home and when Mam opened the door she was faced with me, flanked by three CID officers who were all looking very stern.
'It was plastic,' I whined, knowing it wouldn't make a difference – I was still in a heap of trouble.
Mam was horrified. The street was filled with cop cars and everyone was peering out of their windows to see what was going on. Mam quickly explained that I was telling the truth, they were only plastic toys, but she had to go down to the police station and sort it all out.
So I didn't play with guns after that, though Mam wasn't mad at me really. She thought the whole thing had been blown out of proportion, and eventually she saw the funny side.
I generally got away with most things with Mam. I'd just give her a grin and she'd melt. But I was a good kid to her – I always respected my elders and did what I was told. I was just mischievous and hard to keep track of.
If she did give me any punishment, like writing out lines, I'd just get it done without making a fuss. Then I'd come downstairs and give her a smile and say I'd done it and she'd usually let me get on with whatever I'd been doing.
When she grounded me I'd just go and find something to do indoors. I never argued – I generally wanted to keep the peace. I've always been a lover not a fighter. And I've always been better at hurting myself than other people.
If I wasn't in hospital for my asthma I was there getting stitched back together again after some accident or another.
Like the time I literally got 'Tangoed'.
It was Sports Day at school – the best day of the year as far as I was concerned because I could significantly add to my medal collection. I was barely ten, but I'd collected quite a hoard of winning trophies already.
We were let out early from class to go and sit on the grass of the playing field while everything was being set up and it wasn't long before we were all bored and getting up to no good.
First we started to have a headstand competition to see who could balance for the longest time. But then some bright spark decided to make the challenge a little tougher by throwing bottles of orange Tango at us while we were upside down, to knock us off balance.
'Fair enough, let them take their best shot,' I thought.
Bottles went flying, taking people out left, right and centre but not hurting anyone. And I stayed firmly balanced, even after a few direct hits to the gut.
Soon I was the only one left upside down and was declared the winner. But as I was righting myself to a round of applause, one last bottle of Tango came whizzing through the air and hit me squarely on the back of the head.
Apparently bottles of Tango can split your head open when launched full throttle at you. Who knew that?
There was blood everywhere. The teachers were running around, panicking, and before I knew it both a helicopter and an ambulance had been dispatched to fetch me to hospital.
Head injuries are serious business. But I couldn't believe my luck – a helicopter ride? Bring it on! I thought.
Mam came rushing over just as the helicopter began to circle overhead. It was so loud and everyone was staring at it, gobsmacked. But then I heard another, more familiar sound: the scream of an ambulance siren heading our way.
It had arrived at the same time as the helicopter, so before it could land and pick me up for my ride it was sent to respond to another emergency instead and I had to settle for an ambulance trip.
I was gutted. 'Mam, it was there, it was coming in to land,' I remember saying, as she was freaking out because of all the blood.
We didn't stay long at the hospital, but I had a serious amount of stitches down the back of my head by the time we left. When we got into Mam's car to go home it was only lunchtime, and I was feeling fine. I begged her to take me back to school so I could compete in the sports. She wasn't impressed, but I convinced her in the end. I'd missed out on a helicopter ride, I wasn't going to miss out on Sports Day.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Gaz (And My Parsnip) by Gary Beadle, Tina Campanella. Copyright © 2015 Gary Beadle and Tina Campanella. Excerpted by permission of John Blake Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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