My mum and dad used to live in a small flat in Peterborough, but after they had kids — me, my little brother and four sisters — they managed to get a council house. I suppose you’d say it was on an estate, but Peterborough was actually quite rural in the early 1970s, and we looked out onto open fields and farms. Every morning, I woke up to the smell of pig manure.
Back then, there was absolutely no shame attached to having a council house. My mum loved it because there was enough space to be a proper family. Being the oldest, I always had my own bedroom, and I can still see it now... the Marilyn Monroe poster, pictures of Donny Osmond and the Bay City Rollers. I was music mad — I used to keep my stereo in the wardrobe because I thought it gave the speakers more bass.
Sometime in my teens, I read an article in the Daily Mirror about punk rockers being on drugs. It gave a list of warning signs for concerned parents to look out for, and one of them was the smell of incense. I started burning incense all the time, ’cos I thought it would make my mates think I was on drugs.
I eventually took the curtains down and decorated my bedroom window to look like a shop display. Any time that Abba came on the radio, I would throw the window wide open and start dancing round my bedroom, singing at the top of my voice. God knows what the neighbours thought.
At school, I’d been in the choir. I always looked a bit like a girl, and had a beautiful, angelic voice. My babysitter used to get me to sing songs for her, and she’d let me stay up an extra 15 minutes for every one I sang. I loved performing, but I was always so shy that I had to stare at the wall.
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You should have seen our living room. Mum had foolishly let me choose some of the colours, so we had a mix of chocolate brown, lime green and orange walls. The curtains were bright blue, there was a huge striped sofa and the carpet was shag-pile, with brown swirls.
Dad worked at a local factory and Mum was a full-time housewife. She grew vegetables and rhubarb in the garden. I seemed to have a vivid imagination and was always inventing stories, or having a game of It’s a Knockout. I even wrote a show that I performed in the front yard; I printed out all the tickets and everything. Of course, nobody came.
I’m pretty sure my parents knew I was gay, but we never really talked about it. I suppose I was open and brazen about who I was... I didn’t feel I should hide away. During one school holiday, I tried to seduce a boy, and I had an affair with my best friend, which we always laugh about now. There was some bullying, and I got hit a couple of times, but I was usually able to hold my own. I must have looked quite bizarre compared with most kids from the estate — after punk, I started wearing ripped-up Oxfam suits and fishnet stockings. My grandad used to describe me as a “rum bugger”.
Somebody told me about this one hotel in Peterborough that was supposed to have a gay bar attached to it, but every time I went there, I was the only person in the room. There was no one for me to hang out with, so I either stayed at home or got part-time jobs —window cleaning or working on the market stall, or in shops. Subconsciously, maybe I was avoiding kids of my own age, in case there was trouble.
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I moved to London when I was 17. Yes, it was because I wanted to be in a place where it was easier to be gay, but it was also because I wanted to be in a band. A friend of mine got a job as a social worker in London, so I followed her down and never went back.
As my brother and sisters left home, Mum suffered from empty-nest syndrome and started drinking, but I’m still close to her and Dad. I go to see them quite a bit — I live in London and Miami, where my partner’s from — but Peterborough always makes me feel rather melancholic.
Andy Bell’s new album, Torsten the Bareback Saint, is out now on Cherry Red
Bell’s favourite music
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