It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers.
Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.
But occasionally one comes across parents who take the opposite line, who show no interest at all in their children.
And these, of course, are far worse than the doting ones.
Mr and Mrs Wormwood were two such parents.
Matilda!
Matilda!
Where is she, the little bunion?
Search me, Harry.
Probably got her nose in a stupid book.
What good will that do her?
She's a scab, that's what she is, a scab.
Matilda!
Matilda!
Matilda!
Looking back on it all, it seems a very strange story indeed.
But every bit of it is true.
My parents, my brother Michael and I, lived in quite a nice house with three bedrooms.
My father was a dealer in second-hand cars.
I was only five when I discovered just how he earned all his money.
But it's a day that I've never forgotten.
Sawdust.
Sawdust, Mike Millard, is one of the great secrets of my success.
Sawdust?
I'll thank you for not interrupting, Matilda.
This is between me and Mike, isn't it, Mike?
Yeah.
Sawdust.
Now, you need to know about it since you'll be joining me in the business one day, won't you, son?
Yeah.
Course you will.
Well, sawdust costs me absolutely nothing.
Get it free from the sawmill.
I don't see how sawdust can help you to sell second-hand cars, Daddy.
That's because you, Matilda, are an ignorant little twit.
Now button up, will you?
I'm talking to your brother, aren't I, son?
Yeah.
See here.
I'm always glad to buy a car when some fool has been crashing the gears so badly.
They're all worn out and rattle like mad.
Do you know why I'm glad to buy that sort of car, son?
No.
Well, I'll tell you.
Because I get it cheap, that's why.
Then all I do is mix a lot of sawdust with the oil in the gearbox and it runs as sweet as a nut.
How long will it run like that before it starts rattling again?
Long enough for the buyer to get a good distance away.
But that's dishonest, Daddy.
It's cheating.
No one ever got rich by being honest.
Customers are there to be diddled.
That's what customers is for, isn't it, my son?
Yeah.
Take mileage, for instance.
Anyone who's buying a second-hand car.
The first thing he wants to know is how many miles it's done right?
Yeah.
So I buy an old dump that's got about 150,000 miles on the clock.
I get it cheap, but no one's going to buy it with the mileys like that, are they?
No.
So what do I do?
I use my brains, laddie.
That's what I do.
Oh.
The speedometer, see, is run off a cable that's coupled up to one of the front wheels.
So, first I disconnect the cable where it joins the front wheel.
Next, I get one of those high-speed electric drills and I couple that up to the end of the cable in such a way that when the drill turns, it turns the cable backwards right.
Right.
So?
When I switch on the drill, the mileage numbers on the speedo spin backwards at a terrific rate.
Wow, that's fantastic, Dad.
Brain, son.
When you've been given a fine brain like I have, you have to use it.
Right.
I'm telling you trade secrets.
So don't you go talking about this to anyone else.
You don't want me putting jug, do you?
Here, do you do this to many cars, Dad?
Every single car that comes through my hands gets the treatment.
But that's even more dishonest than the sawdust, Daddy.
It's disgusting.
You're cheating people.
If you don't like it, then don't eat the food in this house.
It's bought with a profit.
It's dirty money.
I hate it.
Who the heck do you think you are?
The Archbishop of Canterbury or something?
Burger and fries all round.
Here's your mother with your TV dinner, which of course you don't deserve.
Tell your mother what you just said.
Go on, tell her.
What was it you said, Matilda?
I said that the money Daddy makes out of cheating people is dirty money.
Oh!
Yeah.
Who the heck do you think you are?
An ignorant little squirt who hasn't the foggiest idea what she's talking about.
Quite right, Harry.
You tell me about it.
You've got a nerve talking to your father like that.
Quite right.
Now keep your nasty mouth shut so we can all watch this programme in peace.
Please.
Why do you keep looking over there?
No reason, really.
You'll always hear it.
Mummy?
Would you mind if I ate my supper in the dining room so I could read my book?
Oh, for pity's sake.
I would mind.
Supper is a family gathering and no one leaves the table till it's over.
But we're not at the table.
We never are.
We're always eating off our knees and watching telly.
What's wrong with watching telly, may I ask?
You get more from watching telly than reading stupid books.
Yes.
Turn it up, Michael.
I didn't enjoy being told I was stupid all the time.
And what's more, I wished my family would read a little Charles Dickens or Rudyard Kipling.
Then they'd soon discover there was more to life than cheating people and watching television.
I was determined to get my own map, starting the next day with my father, his pork pie hat and a tube of superglue.
