What You See Is What You Get: My Autobiography by Alan Sugar Read Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Sugar
would take me to the synagogue but we certainly weren't regular visitors. The only tradition Mum and Dad kept was to invite all our immediate family round every Friday night for dinner.
After my Bar Mitzvah, the many friends I had at the Lea Bridge Road youth club became distant for some reason. I can remember being rejected by one particular individual, a boy called Harvey, who made it plain I was no longer his friend. Before that, Harvey and I had been close pals, seeing each other as much as we could. He would come to my flat and I would go to his house. He came from a better background than mine. His mother once said to me, 'You don't speak very nicely.' I guess that was due to the people I mixed with in my flats or at school. I was a Cockney.
Certain people in the Jewish community wanted to elevate themselves. They sent their children to schools which had special elocution classes. This segregation created Jews who didn't want to be associated with normal Jews, which I think is strange. On reflection, I suppose that Harvey's mum leant on him and told him not to hang around with me any more. I often wondered what I might have done wrong, but, in all honesty, the only explanation I can find for Harvey's behaviour was that his family became aware I was from a much poorer background than theirs.
He wasn't the only friend I lost. Traditionally, Bar Mitzvah boys are thrown a lavish party to which all family and friends are invited. This was not the case with me, as my mother and father could not afford such an affair. Instead we had a small get-together at home. The boys at the youth club, however, thought that they'd not been invited to some glamorous Bar Mitzvah party. One prick by the name of Elkham Miller and his sidekick Michael Marsham actually spelled this out to me shortly afterwards. They said the reason they didn't talk to me any more was that they weren't invited to my Bar Mitzvah party. When I told them I hadn't had a party, they simply didn't believe it. It's strange how thirteen-year-olds can be damaged by the reactions of those who they thought were their friends.
Possibly the British Psychological Society will use extracts of this book as a new case study in their journals, explaining how this is a classic textbook case, how the inner damage caused gave rise to hidden personality swings that are exposed when certain events spark off memories. What a load of bollocks! Do you know, there's a whole industry in this! And some people pay for it! Have I missed out on that particular enterprise? Amspsych Ltd . No, it doesn't have a nice ring to it.
By the way, this is not an invitation for Disturbed Weekly to call me up for an in-depth interview, put me to sleep and take me back to when I was thirteen. Forget it! But cop the next chapter - any budding psych reading this will think they've won the lottery, because from that moment on I became a recluse. For about two years, I didn't want to socialise with anybody.
2
'Shame About the Spelling, Sugar'
School Days - 'Sugar's Got Rolls of Film for Three Bob'
1960-3
While my social life was non-existent, I still kept busy with work and my hobbies. Sometimes they combined, as with the Saturday job I took in a chemist's in Walthamstow High Street market. Having found that I enjoyed science and engineering at school (in contrast to some of the more boring subjects such as history and the arts), I thought pharmacy might be the way to go, and naively I figured I would learn about it on the job. The shop was owned by a very nice man called Michael Allen. When I told him I aspired to be a pharmacist, he taught me as much as he possibly could about drugs and that sort of stuff.
I spent most of my time in the front of the shop selling cough syrups and lozenges. Here I was, a young kid, being asked by punters what cough syrup they should take. Mr Allen taught me to ask if it was a chesty cough or a dry cough. For chesty, you got a bottle of Benylin; for dry, you got a bottle
After my Bar Mitzvah, the many friends I had at the Lea Bridge Road youth club became distant for some reason. I can remember being rejected by one particular individual, a boy called Harvey, who made it plain I was no longer his friend. Before that, Harvey and I had been close pals, seeing each other as much as we could. He would come to my flat and I would go to his house. He came from a better background than mine. His mother once said to me, 'You don't speak very nicely.' I guess that was due to the people I mixed with in my flats or at school. I was a Cockney.
Certain people in the Jewish community wanted to elevate themselves. They sent their children to schools which had special elocution classes. This segregation created Jews who didn't want to be associated with normal Jews, which I think is strange. On reflection, I suppose that Harvey's mum leant on him and told him not to hang around with me any more. I often wondered what I might have done wrong, but, in all honesty, the only explanation I can find for Harvey's behaviour was that his family became aware I was from a much poorer background than theirs.
He wasn't the only friend I lost. Traditionally, Bar Mitzvah boys are thrown a lavish party to which all family and friends are invited. This was not the case with me, as my mother and father could not afford such an affair. Instead we had a small get-together at home. The boys at the youth club, however, thought that they'd not been invited to some glamorous Bar Mitzvah party. One prick by the name of Elkham Miller and his sidekick Michael Marsham actually spelled this out to me shortly afterwards. They said the reason they didn't talk to me any more was that they weren't invited to my Bar Mitzvah party. When I told them I hadn't had a party, they simply didn't believe it. It's strange how thirteen-year-olds can be damaged by the reactions of those who they thought were their friends.
Possibly the British Psychological Society will use extracts of this book as a new case study in their journals, explaining how this is a classic textbook case, how the inner damage caused gave rise to hidden personality swings that are exposed when certain events spark off memories. What a load of bollocks! Do you know, there's a whole industry in this! And some people pay for it! Have I missed out on that particular enterprise? Amspsych Ltd . No, it doesn't have a nice ring to it.
By the way, this is not an invitation for Disturbed Weekly to call me up for an in-depth interview, put me to sleep and take me back to when I was thirteen. Forget it! But cop the next chapter - any budding psych reading this will think they've won the lottery, because from that moment on I became a recluse. For about two years, I didn't want to socialise with anybody.
2
'Shame About the Spelling, Sugar'
School Days - 'Sugar's Got Rolls of Film for Three Bob'
1960-3
While my social life was non-existent, I still kept busy with work and my hobbies. Sometimes they combined, as with the Saturday job I took in a chemist's in Walthamstow High Street market. Having found that I enjoyed science and engineering at school (in contrast to some of the more boring subjects such as history and the arts), I thought pharmacy might be the way to go, and naively I figured I would learn about it on the job. The shop was owned by a very nice man called Michael Allen. When I told him I aspired to be a pharmacist, he taught me as much as he possibly could about drugs and that sort of stuff.
I spent most of my time in the front of the shop selling cough syrups and lozenges. Here I was, a young kid, being asked by punters what cough syrup they should take. Mr Allen taught me to ask if it was a chesty cough or a dry cough. For chesty, you got a bottle of Benylin; for dry, you got a bottle
Similar Books
Mystery of the Orphan Train
Gertrude Chandler Warner
Hexad: The Chamber
Al K. Line
The Master Of Strathburn
Amy Rose Bennett
Sidney Sheldon's Mistress of the Game
Sidney Sheldon, Tilly Bagshawe
Face the Wind and Fly
Jenny Harper
Prince of Pleasure
Mandy M. Roth
The Whiskey Baron
Jon Sealy
Collapse Depth
Todd Tucker
Desire & Deception (Entangled Ignite)
Sahara Roberts