These were the best lessons. Gathered in our uncoolable hut, serenaded by Split Enz, talking. I had a head, decorated with a pig snout and a chin that stuck out like Clutch Cargo. Curtis had bloodshot eyes, gaunt cheeks and canine teeth protruding from her mouth. ‘Like a wolf,’ I said.

He howled, and everyone laughed.

It was about now Nick would begin his sermon. Not that he’d mean to, or probably care, but he couldn’t help but tell the truth. ‘They reckon they might boycott LA.’

We waited. Who? Why?

‘The Olympics,’ he said, no doubt realising we were all dolts, dragged up in a suburban soup of meat, Chryslers and the Ted Mulry Gang.

‘The Reds?’ Curtis managed.

‘Iran, China, the lot.’ He stood behind Curtis. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Her.’ He pointed, accusingly, like it was Tracey’s fault.

‘Maybe more on the cheeks … and her teeth don’t look like that.’ He sat down and turned up the radio. ‘I reckon Big Brother wins.’

‘Who?’

‘You haven’t read Nineteen Eighty-Four?’

‘No.’ Although I remembered it on Ossie’s bookshelf.

‘A dictatorship. Big Brother tells everyone what to think. Watches what you’re up to in your home.’

One of the girls pulled a face. ‘I wouldn’t let ’em.’

I thought of my TK25 and wondered if I was some sort of Big Brother, or maybe just a pervert.

‘They control the newspapers, telly. Twenty-four hour Blankety Blanks.’

I could hear Ernie Sharpe.

The girl said, ‘Plenty of good articles in the paper.’

‘Like?’

‘AIDS. They reckon that’s gonna kill half the globe.’

‘Bullshit,’ Nick said. ‘That’s the other thing they do. Make you scared so you stay in your job, and house, and buy stuff.’ He slowed, realising the sermon was dragging. ‘And plenty of sport. Like we’re all part of some big team, and we just gotta win and we’ll be happy.’

The biggest of the footballers was named Barry, and he said, ‘What a loada shit.’

Nick sat forward. ‘How’s yer sketch, Bazz?’

He showed him.

‘Anyway, Winston Smith thinks dangerous thoughts.’ He paused, sharing them, anticipating the reward. ‘And he pays for it in room 101.’

‘What happens?’ I asked.

Nick must have known I’d be the one to ask. ‘He questioned the leaders.’

‘About what?’

‘Newspeak. The Prole sector. Why it wasn’t different … better.’

This revelation didn’t seem to interest anyone. But for me, it was about the most important thing I’d ever heard. ‘So the book reckons we’re told what to think?’

‘Exactly.’

‘By newspapers?’

‘And schools, politicians, organisers of Olympic Games. The guy on the telly flogging refrigerators.’

Tracey said, ‘That’s crap. This is 1984, and no one’s watching me take a shower.’

Barry smiled, but thought better of it.