Baggage: My Childhood [Kindle Edition]

J S-P herself seems to want us to believe that she had a traumatic childhood. Now I don't know about you but when someone says they had a traumatic childhood, I think of harrowing tales I've heard of abuse, neglect, severe deprivation, putting up with alcohol- or drug-dependant parents, or growing up in the grimmest kind of Care. J S-P suffered none of these. She was well cared for, got given everything her hardworking parents could afford, was not beaten or abused, or humiliated on a regular basis. Her parents obviously weren't the warmest or most affectionate of people, but that was pretty par for the course for a lot of working-class families at the time. Their biggest "crime" was a lack of imagination, but in their own way they did want the best for her. Perhaps I missed something vital here, but J S-P gives us an example of something that happened when she was 14, which she seriously wants us to believe was an example of how "cruel" her parents could be ...er, they decided to move house. I had a sort of confused, open-mouthed reaction to that one!

J S-P has said she didn't write this book as any kind of score-settling, but it sure as heck feels that way! Her constant crowing that her mother was jealous of her success, because her mother had to leave school at 14, just sounds horribly mean-spirited. It's like some terrible joke, the self-important media darling with the inflated ego ranting about what a deprived upbringing they had! This isn't exactly "Mommie Dearest" or "A Child Called It", more a 276-page whinge of "my parents didn't understand me". If you're interested in what it was like to grow up in a terraced house in Fulham in the 1950s, with the family listening to "Two-Way Family Favourites" over Sunday lunch, and summer holidays in North Wales (when the poor deprived darling would rather have stayed in London), then this is the book for you, for me it was a thundering disappointment. The most startling thing about it for me was the revelation that J S-P seems to have inherited her father's complete lack of a sense of humour!

This autobiography has been much slated, mainly on the grounds that readers can find little wrong with the way the young Janet Bull was raised. However, with a little thought, it is possible to realise that despite the new house with an indoor toilet and separate rooms for both daughters, and the luxuries of piano lessons and similar, that parents can still make a child's life entirely miserable.

The most amusing remembrances come from the time when Janet and her sister were both accident prone young children, for instance the time that Janet's mother took her profusely bleeding daughter to hospital on a bus because of fear of what the neighbours might think should an ambulance arrive outside her house.

By the time the book arrives at Janet's teenage years, the mood darkens somewhat as the resentment of her parents increases. One can almost feel the boredom emanating from the page at the description of countless solitary journeys from the middle of nowhere to school and back. However, even in light of the parents that refuse point blank to discuss anything of importance, one still has to worry at the description of the time Janet pushed her younger sister down the stairs for daring to be the first to develop breasts.

The real downfall of the book comes in the last few chapters, set in Janet's older teenage years. At this point the book dissolves into little more than a list of gigs, parties, films and galleries Janet attended, the people she met and the men she slept with. Even when discussing the two abortions she had within two years, there is a surprising lack of emotion. It is hard t maintain interest from this point onwards.

The book is also notably short, double spaced, and little more than an evening's read. However, the first three quarters are entertaining and certainly not unworthy of print. Anyone considering purchasing this book may be advised to wait for the paperback version, as it is likely to seem far better value for money.

In all, 'Baggage' is an enjoyable examination of the childhood of Janet Street-Porter, and despite its shortcomings, definitely worth a read.