I dressed like a girl. But that was the trend around Liverpool for girls my age – Lacoste tracksuits and nice white trainers. My friends and I used to go out and hang around the shops; in its own way it was our fashion statement. That was part of me, going through those stages every young girl does when she’s finding her own style.
My mum and dad always said that while we were at school they would provide for us, so we could devote our time to
Oh! Please! No! Don’t!
There are many reasons to get on your mobile and call the fashion police, but here are some pet hates of mine that should be avoided at all costs:
1. Very short skirts with high heels
Unless your name happens to be Beyoncé and you are singing a little song called Crazy in Love you have no excuse. It’s not sexy.
2. Visible thongs above trousers’ waistbands
The modern-day female equivalent of the builder’s bum. Very unattractive.
3. Seeing double
If you are appearing on Strictly Come Dancing then fine, but otherwise girlfriends and boyfriends should not be seen out wearing matching outfits. Unless they’re around six years old, in which case it’s officially cute.
4. Cleavage overload
Message to all those girls who take their fashion tips from men’s magazines: keep them hidden and keep them guessin’.
5. Silly hats
Equestrian helmets and Pierrot clown cones may be good for fancy dress, but never mistake eccentricity for individuality.
schoolwork and exams. During the summer holidays, I used to go with my Auntie Pat and Auntie Shelagh to clean the chalets at Pontins – the money was good and I’m sure we used to clean more chalets than anyone else! – but when I was sixteen I found myself a Saturday job in New Look in Liverpool.
It was simply that I needed more money to buy clothes for myself. Not only that, but I’d just started seeing Wayne, and his birthday was coming up in October. Then it would be Christmas, so I really wanted to earn some extra money to buy him presents. I worked at New Look on Saturdays, and in the run-up to Christmas I’d work late-night Thursdays. Dad used to come and pick me up afterwards because he never liked the idea of me catching the bus home at that time of night.
Because I was interested in fashion it was a great job, and I used to get fifty per cent off all the clothes. My contract meant I had to buy New Look clothes to work in the shop, which I was more than happy about because they used to have a nice designer range by Luella at the time. I really enjoyed the independence the job brought me, and having my own money coming into my bank account. And Wayne got his birthday presents – an Armani cardigan and a pair of wireless headphones.
A couple of years ago, GMTV’s fashion expert, Caryn Franklin, wrote a kind article in the Daily Mirror about me entitled ‘The Making of Coleen’, saying how I’d made ‘the transition from schoolgirl to sophisticate with ease’. I don’t know about ease, but it’s been fun. The last few years have seen me grow up, and so has my style and fashion sense. It’s been a fashion journey that, for better or worse, has taken place in the public eye. As for that first photograph of me, well, if I’d have known I was going to be in the newspapers then maybe, looking back, I might have restyled a few things. For starters, I think I’d have gone for flat ballet shoes with white socks, not the navy ones I was wearing. And I would’ve had my hair different – a loose ponytail rather than the tight pony I wore at the time. And I’d be wearing a smarter, tailored jacket. The three-quarter-length hooded puffa jacket would be history. That would be the first thing to go!
chapter three always a liverpool girl
Before I go any further, maybe I should tell you a little bit about my background. There are six of us in my family: my mum Colette, dad Tony, oldest brother Joe, who’s nineteen, then Anthony, who’s eighteen, and our little eight-year-old sister, Rosie. You might have seen Rosie on the TV programme I made with Sir Trevor McDonald highlighting the problems of caring for disabled children, a subject close to my heart. Ever since she was born, Rosie has suffered from a rare genetic disorder caller Rett syndrome, which means she needs twenty-four-hour care. We’ve always had foster children coming to live with us in the house, and Rosie came to us as a two-year-old. We loved her so much we didn’t want to let her leave, and my mum and dad adopted her. We’re a really close family. Wayne has always spent a lot of time round my mum and dad’s house and he has become close to us too.
I was born in Oxford Street Hospital, in Liverpool’s city centre, on 3 April 1986. Coleen means ‘girl’ in Gaelic, it is to Ireland what Sheila is to Australia. I’m not actually named after anyone, but my dad has Irish roots and his granddad came from County Mayo.
My mum was just eighteen when she married my twenty-one-year-old dad, yet it took them seven years of trying to have a baby, and fertility treatment, before I eventually came along. Then, when I finally appeared on the scene, I nearly died.
My earliest memory is of being in hospital with my mum sitting by the bed crying. I was four years old when I caught chicken pox and I was ill for days and not getting any better. Then one night my mum tried to get me out of bed and I couldn’t walk properly, I just kept falling over all the time. They called the doctor and as soon as he saw my condition he sent me down to Alder Hey Children’s Hospital in Liverpool. There they immediately diagnosed me as having encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) caused by the chicken pox. I was put on all kinds of drips and stuff, and at one point the doctors told my mum and dad that I might not pull through – that I might have only forty-eight hours to live. I’ve still got those memories of all the family coming to visit me and me crying my head off. Eventually, I came out the other side, but I had to learn how to walk all over again. Now I’m in the fortunate position of being able to help others by being an ambassador and fundraiser for the hospital that did so much to help me.
One of the reasons my mum and dad started fostering was because they’d tried so hard to have kids and when the time was right they decided they wanted to give something back. It was after we’d all started school, and my mum felt she had the time on her hands that could be of benefit to others. They waited until we were at an age when we – Joe, Anthony and I – could understand what fostering meant and what it would mean to the family. They sat us down and discussed fostering with us, and said they would only do it if everyone was happy. We all thought the idea was a good one.
In the beginning, we looked after newborn babies, who would eventually go on to be with couples who couldn’t have kids and wanted to adopt. I can’t pretend that wasn’t sometimes hard on us. We quickly got attached to these kids and it was difficult to see them go, but, like my mum and dad said, we were giving them a good start. That’s how we came to have Rosie. At other times we’d have children with disabilities come to stay for the weekend every now and again, to give their parents a rest. At the moment we have this little boy called Jake who’s got Down’s syndrome. He comes once a month to stay with us – I say ‘us’ because I spend so much time at my mum and dad’s house that it still feels like home. When my parents first met, my mum was a nursery nurse, but she gave up work to bring up her family. Dad was a bricklayer, but in the end he had to give up because of prolapsed discs in his back, and so now he devotes his time to Rosie, fostering, the local hospital and the church. My dad is quite religious, and religion and the church – we’re Roman Catholics – have always played a big part in our lives. My first Holy Communion at the age of seven is still a very special memory for me.
However, as much as dad is religious, it’s never been something he’s imposed on us. At the age of sixteen we were all given the choice of whether we wanted to go to church any more, we weren’t forced to go. Nowadays, I don’t go as much