As a child I kept snails, ladybirds and any other insect I could get hold of (except spiders) loose in my bedroom as pets until my parents finally caved in to my request for a dog. I named them all and spent long hours talking to them. Snails aren’t great conversationalists and the trails they leave are nearly impossible to remove from carpets, curtains, clothes and books.
Helen Fields
At school, aged thirteen, I deliberately broke a sewing machine and refused to continue doing home economics lessons as the boys at a nearby school did not have to learn to cook and sew. I think it was my first ever feminist rant. I remember telling my teacher that there was no way I was going to have children or cook for a husband, so the lessons were completely pointless. (I’ve been married for seventeen years and have three children).
I spent my youth pretending I was asleep but reading Stephen King, James Herbert and Dean Koontz novels under the covers. The result was that whenever I was asked to write an essay at school it was completely filled with blood, gore, monsters and death. My parents, at various points, became quite concerned and occasionally I was asked by teachers to make my creative work more palatable. To this day, I’m not sure I’m able to write a piece without a reference to someone meeting their end in a ghoulish manner (mwa ha ha ha).
My first love was acting, and it’s a skill that has served me well through my time as a barrister and more recently in running a production company. As proof, if you watched the American satirical sitcom TV series “Better Off Ted” on ABC about workers at a company called Veridian Dynamics, you’ll recall that half way through each episode they ran a fake company promo video. I appeared in most of those - as a scientist, a teacher, a co-worker - you name it. Most proudly there’s a long shot panning across where I’m staring straight in the camera, while the voice-over asks, “Is your boss a complete b**ch?” Yup, my fifteen minutes of fame!
I once wrote and produced a party political broadcast for TV in a UK general election, although I’m not allowed to tell you which party it was for. We filmed it over two days in London. I had to research and write it in an extremely limited amount of time, not to mention getting on board with the issues I felt would most touch people’s hearts and affect their voting choices. It was stressful and exhilarating in equal measure.
I recently took up karate in an effort to be the sort of mum who does activities with her children rather than sitting watching from the viewing gallery. After a year and a half I have risen to the giddy position of a yellow belt (I’m not going to explain the hierarchy but you can assume I’m not a natural) and regularly take beatings from my sons and daughter. They think it’s hilarious seeing their mother punching, kicking and being thrown around but I tell myself that their laughter hides a secret admiration for my taking part.
As a parent of three, I seem to have spent a disproportionate amount of the last decade in the Accident and Emergency department. The most memorable moment was when my then three year old son laughed during dinner at his childminder’s and breathed a chicken dipper up into his nose from his throat. The doctor at A&E couldn’t see it and obviously wouldn’t believe us. Gabriel sneezed it out two days later. I may now be a full time writer but I lack the words to describe how utterly vile and disgusting the sneeze was to witness.
When my husband and I first got married, we both decided we’d take our motorcycle tests. He’d done it before. I hadn’t. He was swanning around the car park looking as if he could take his test that day, while I was on a moped wondering why the brake wasn’t at my feet instead of in my hand and wishing I was wearing body armour. The instructor told me to look after the moped as it was the owner’s pride and joy. Then he tried to make me turn circles. His instructions were, “Don’t look the tree. If you look at the tree, you’ll hit the tree. Try to look around the bend where you want to go.” I hit the tree. He refused to continue with my lesson. I love my car.
I spent many years practising law and loved the time I spent in court. One of the most memorable afternoons was in Portsmouth County Court, in a family case, where I was giving a closing speech. Despite having been there hundreds of times, I forgot that the seats swung up when you stood. I ended my closing dramatically and plonked myself back down towards the chair seat which wasn’t there. I landed on my back on the floor in a fit of giggles so bad I absolutely couldn't stand up. A few minutes later I got to my feet and realised I’d split my skirt from the hem to the top of the zip. The judge had to adjourn the hearing as she, too, was crying with laughter and I had to wrap my client’s suit jacket around myself to get back to my car.
Lastly, I have food texture issues. If we are ever at dinner together, don’t bring porridge, tapioca, lumpy stew, or anything predominantly liquid containing solids anywhere near me. I react badly.
Helen Fields’ debut novel Perfect Remains (Avon, £7.99) is published on 26th January.