Miss Peg* was a writer of all things random, a person who chose to blog when there were too few hours left in the day and a person who procrastinated far too much.
She lived a happy childhood, born into a family of 2.4 children where she lived in a detached house in the suburbs of some big town somewhere quite some miles from the sea, in the shadows of the countryside. She ran around the house with pigtails in her hair and funny dresses discarded on the floor, the long grass green carpets barely protecting her little chubby legs as she tumbled.
It was from an early age that she found her calling as the owner of small people known as Playmobil, or to Miss Peg; Peters. She spent many days, weeks, months and even years making up stories for her families of plastic people who were very happy under the control of their master.
The family holidayed in the south, finding refuge in a modern villa belonging to a woman named Lucy. There they talked about what you do when you get to the end of being big (something which Miss Peg is now all too familiar with) and they twirled plastic tubes around until they made whistling sounds. It was there that Miss Peg learnt what it meant to hurt yourself. A freak accident involving a locked car, a door that hadn’t been closed and a stray finger resulted in one parent screaming to the other across the courtyard until her finger was freed from the door. Some say that her finger never recovered, but those who knew her well knew that the injury was only temporary.
The rest of the holidays in the south involved traipsing across beaches full of sand worms, wandering through villages with castles and white buildings on the edge of the cliff top. There lies her final resting place; her ashes will be thrown into the wind so that she will forever be in her beloved childhood memories.
For many of her first years of life her mother found a particularly unique way of sending her to the child minder’s around the corner. Thanks to the shaping of the streets the child minder’s garden backed onto the side of Miss Peg’s own garden and so her mother lifted her up and passed her over the fence.
It wasn’t just her mother who treated her in strange and unusual ways, her siblings did so too. Her fair hair and fair skin meant that she was often considered very hairy to the point at which her siblings informed her that she would one day become a white gorilla.
When she started school she wore a tie with an elastic band which sat around her neck, a proper shirt made of cotton and buttons and a woollen jumper to keep her warm. Her friends found her likeable, her other classmates thought her a rather sweet and innocent child much smaller than everyone else. Despite her innocence, Miss Peg got up to various forms of mischief thanks to her best friend who insisted that goblins lived underneath buses and a witch lived in the mansion across the road. They frolicked about the playground, hand in hand, as they made up stories about their imaginary friends and solidified a friendship they hoped would last forever.
That first year was complicated, or so the teacher would have said, but in reality it was all rather innocent. Miss Peg suffered from a black eye due to a case of jumping on the bed and toppling off into a chest of drawers, something which she never did again. In the same period of time she found herself scolded by boiling hot water after her cousin came to stay, the dunking of his bottle of milk and her curiosity caused the disaster and she still has the scars to prove it.
She suffered a couple of mishaps in her early school years. A couple of incidents involving carpets and toilets, a slip of the tongue which made her call a teacher Mr Carrot instead of his, slightly less orange, name.
Her accidental injuries didn’t stop with the scolded leg. At some point in her earlier years she went flying down a hill on a bike made from rubber and collided chin first with a piece of concrete flooring. An accident that she doesn’t much remember and a bike she sorely missed.
In her first year in the juniors, Miss Peg was lucky enough to fly all the way to the other side of the world in a great big aeroplane. Well, to America. There she discovered the greatest playground in history known to many as Disneyworld. The giant Playmobil figurines and ‘It’s a Small World’ ride were highlights which she will never forget.
It wasn’t until she reached her second to last year in primary school that things began to change. He best friend had long since moved to another school, replaced quickly by another very close friend who lived down the road. Miss Peg was known by her teacher as the nodding dog, for she liked to talk a little more than some. In the same year she started to learn how to play the cello, a large wooden instrument that she found cumbersome at times.
The second best friend that Miss Peg ever had held parties at New Year and on Bonfire Night, something which made Miss Peg inordinately happy. The two of them wandered around bonfires, watching them burn for hours on end before playing with the ash the next morning. It was there that she learnt about fire safety when her friend burnt through the rubber soles of her shoes on ashes that were still hot, one fateful year.
Leaving primary school was a relatively easy affair, for Miss Peg was to be joined in her secondary school with many of her current friends, including her best friend. There she met many new friends who would shape her life and give her something to believe in. It was unfortunate that in the same period of time she was faced with such a difficulty of juggling obnoxious little twats who thought it pleasurable to poke fun at her.
In the same period of time, Miss Peg found herself a champion of poster collection; owning upward of a hundred large pictures of her beloved S Club 7, which she displayed proudly on every surface of her bedroom. Friends claimed that the eyes followed them constantly, and were fearful of staying overnight.
Whilst her champion position in the poster collection world was existent, she also managed to achieve a feat of great Playmobil zip line success as she sent many of her favourite Playmobil people out of her bedroom window and hurtling towards a forest of trees.
She fell in love and she fell out of love, she made friends and she lost friends, but still she put one foot in front of the other until she found herself skating on thin ice. Literally. The wintry months proved the most difficult and each time a coating of a glistening, frozen liquid, appeared she hid herself away or faced the sudden death that might have become of her. Luckily, she survived those years with only a handful of broken coccyx bones and a twisted knee. The latter she did whilst delivering a newspaper to a house at the end of a little cul-de-sac, the paper sent flying into a bush as she landed on her already injured knee.
By sixth form college, Miss Peg had grown to have opinions so strong that nothing would change her mind. She argued often, usually about important things, and enjoyed learning about how society works and non-verbal communication. It was in her first year of college that she found her cheeks ached the most from the amount of laughing which she did, her Communication Studies teacher being the funniest person she had ever met.
At college she learnt a lot about bullying, listening and how to care about the world around you. It was there that her love of volunteering began and it was there where she met the second funniest person she had ever met.
In the second year, life was a little harder for Miss Peg, with pressures to go to university she made it clear that she simply didn’t want to fill in that damn UCAS form and you can’t make me. They tried, oh how they tried, but Miss Peg won in the end. When she finally did go to university a year later than her peers, she didn’t even need to complete a proper UCAS application and so that is a moral victory for the Pegster.
In the opening weeks of her university degree, Miss Peg found herself faced with a challenge; when the course leader suggested that one couldn’t get a first class degree whilst one also had a social life, Miss Peg decided that it would be her mission to prove her otherwise.
At university she spent time tossing shuttlecocks over nets, for a week or two, until she realised that the whole thing would be far too expensive. Then she had a go at joining a philosophy society, who pulled her in with open arms, but their meetings just didn’t fit into her schedule. A long bout in the creative writing society was where her passions lay and for a side order of fun, she opted for some clowning around with giant pencils and funny hats.
She also spent her days writing her own version of war and peace under the guise of Skins fanfiction, where she became something of a big name fan. The words she placed on the screen were at the time her very best work, though some might say that it isn’t as good as it might appear. Miss Peg came to believe, in later years, that her work could have been better had she opted to rewrite the things now. But unfortunately life doesn’t work that way and they were good at the time, and that’s all that matters.
So, with just a few weeks to spare and thousands of words to write for the final assignments of her degree, Miss Peg wrote thousands more words of fanfiction. How she came out with a first class degree she doesn’t know.
That summer she spent her days running around the Vermont countryside with a bow and arrow, three children on her tail and a ridiculous amount of belongings. She laughed, she cried, and then she cried some more as the rain came tumbling down for days on end. It was experiences like that which gave her a real insight into human nature. She then spent the rest of the summer teacher children about the joys of Playmobil in a basement of a little house somewhere south, or maybe north, of a little place in America.
Since then she has found herself somewhat lost in a world filled with difficult people, with a few shining stars springing up like daisies. The later years may have been tough, but Miss Peg survived with strength, determination for something more and copious amounts of Marmite.
(* Don’t worry, I’m not dead. It’s just a fun way of sharing a random biography.)