Unbreakable: My New Autobiography (27 page)

Five minutes later, me and Ozzy buzz ourselves out of the electric side gate and on to a deserted North Crescent Drive. This is an area that oozes wealth and, consequently, all the houses are of South Fork dimensions – except for ours – and no one walks anywhere.

Oh, hang on, did I say the road was deserted? Correction: here comes another bloody tour bus, with some numpty on a Tannoy wittering on about who lives where. Except that most of them have moved out long ago, and the mugs in the bus are none the wiser.

We were driven out of our home on Doheny Drive by them. Our fault, I know, because it was the house we filmed
The Osbournes
in. But it was quite close to the road and we suffered interminable Tannoy noise all day long, from early morning until late at night. There are no restrictions on them in LA, so they can do the hours they want.

We sold the house to Christina Aguilera, who stayed there for seven years, presumably with earplugs in, and she’s now sold it to someone else and moved further out.

We set off down the hill and Ozzy, who is carrying my bright orange tote for me, spots the tour bus and literally throws the bloody thing at me.

‘I’m the Prince of Fucking Darkness. I can’t be seen carrying a fucking handbag.’

As the open-topped minibus approaches, I can hear the tour guide saying something about Gloria Swanson and Milton Berle, who both lived near here when Moses was a boy, then watch with amusement as one of the occupants clocks Ozzy and starts pointing and shrieking. They can’t believe they are seeing an actual living, breathing celebrity.

Suddenly, they’re all crushed to one side of the bus, snapping away as Ozzy picks up a walking speed I didn’t know he possessed and disappears over a small hedge that borders the grounds of the Beverly Hills Hotel.

On our return, we are greeted with: ‘Mum, where the fuck have you been?’

It’s my darling, searingly direct daughter Kelly who has arrived with fiancé Matthew for lunch to find no one home. She’s standing in front of the wine rack in the kitchen, stocked solely with small bottles of Evian, hands on hips and glaring at me.

‘Me and Dadda went to the coffee shop and got lunch.’ I hold up one of two Beverly Hills Hotel distinctive striped carrier bags, stuffed to the top with salads, club sandwiches, fries and various sauces. I see her indignation deflate slightly.

The buzzer for the main gate sounds. Lisa has arrived with the precious cargo we’ve all gathered to see: the delicious Pearl. She’s such a genial child, so chilled yet so enquiring. Ozzy marvels at how quickly she learns things and, just like every other devoted granddad, tells anyone who’ll listen how intelligent she is. She even managed to switch on the television the other day, which impressed him no end.

‘Pearly girl!’ I lift her into the air and kiss the end of her cute button nose, pulling her into my side, her nappy-clad bottom resting on my hip.

We wander inside. Kelly and Matthew clear the kitchen table of Ozzy’s paints and drawing pads, while Lisa straps Pearl into her highchair and I tip all the salads and sauces into various bowls.

Placing the cutlery on the table, I sit down next to Lisa who is chopping up bits of carrot, tomato and broccoli for Pearl, who is wolfing it down. They are all chatting animatedly about something they have seen on the celebrity website TMZ that morning, and I take the opportunity just to sit back, study them all and let my mind flow with rare, uninterrupted thoughts. Whenever I do this, I always think of all the things I should have done but didn’t. Perhaps now it’s time to make sure I don’t do the same in the future.

You forget so much of your life and the road you’ve taken to get to where you are, but now I’m sixty, I find myself reflecting more. I think about the milestone events, the people who have drifted in and out of my life, the people I’ve lost to illness and the good friends I have gained.

And the battles. Oh my God,
always
fighting with someone about something. People used to write things about my husband, or my kids, and I would go
insane
. When you’re younger, you think you can fight the world, but now I know you can’t. There’s good and there’s bad in life, and there’s not a damned thing you can do to change that. Even to try is so draining. But if you say anything nasty about my husband or my kids to my face, I’ll probably still belt you.

When my father died, all the fights he’d had, the business deals he’d got himself in such states about, the fancy cars and houses he owned depending on whether he was bankrupt that week or not… at the end, his life boiled down to that room in the Belmont rest home in LA. Everything else was history. Besides, the cruelty of Alzheimer’s had robbed him of his past anyway. He couldn’t remember any of it. At the end of your days, it’s all about who cares enough to be standing there when you take your last breath. It’s all about family.

And yes, my family is complex, dramatic, irreverent, unorthodox… but God, I love them.

All my life I have been pursuing
something
. Be it the next business deal, the next house or the next miracle beauty treatment for eternal youth. But now, the chase is over and I am finally starting to feel something close to contentment. That doesn’t mean my life is perfect, far from it. It simply means that I have grown to accept the flaws I can’t change, and do something about the ones I can.

‘Do you know what, Sharon?’ Ozzy said to me the other day. ‘It feels like we’re on the last ten minutes of our lives.’

He’s right. And I’m going to slow down, sit back and make the most of every last second of it.

Bibli
dog
raphy

Bella

Bella is top dog after the death of Minnie, and goes absolutely everywhere with me. She is registered as a service dog because of all the illnesses I’ve had, so she can sit on my lap on a commercial flight. She is an apricot-coloured Pomeranian and she is three years old. I bought her from a breeder in North Carolina and Kelly flew to get her. When her hair is cut short, she looks like a very cute Disney pussy cat. Some people say she looks like Boo, the famous Pomeranian they call ‘the cutest dog in the world’ and who has her own Facebook page. Bella has a bizarre habit of running and hiding when someone she doesn’t know comes
into
the room, then barking hysterically when they leave. She might be tiny and girly, with her pink sparkly collar, but she snores like a trooper. It drives Ozzy mad because she sleeps at the bottom of our bed each night.

Rocky aka Rock Star

Rocky is Ozzy’s dog and he wears an Ozzfest bandanna round his neck to confirm the fact. When Ozzy is home, Rocky is never far from his side. He’s also three years old and came from the same breeder as Bella, but from a different litter. He is black and brown with long hair and is the worst guard dog in the world. Anyone could walk into the house and he just wouldn’t care. He also sleeps with us, but lies on our heads. He likes to eat my hair.

Bunny

A ginger Pomeranian who is four years old. I got her from a breeder in Miami. We were on holiday there when I saw an advert in the local paper, and that was it. She’s neurotic and quite hyper, so she’s all over you like a rash and always moving around. She sometimes sleeps with us, but it gets a bit noisy in there because Bella and Rocky bark at her every time she moves, which is most of the time. So Ozzy invariably ends up kicking her out.

Liberty, aka Libby

I bought her at a pet store in New York last summer (2012). She was my comfort buy after the horrible
America’s Got Talent
experience. She’s part Maltese, part Shih Tzu, and is gorgeously white and fluffy. I don’t usually buy from pet stores any more, because all the dogs I have bought in one tend to have health problems and cost you a fortune in vet bills. But in a way I felt like I was liberating her. She’s a very submissive, low-key dog who just likes to be cuddled. She also comes into bed sometimes. The top dogs bark at her, but she doesn’t fight back, she just disappears under the covers.

Puff

Another Pomeranian, she’s white with apricot-coloured ears. She’s four years old and she’s a rescue dog that Aimee found online. She is very timid. She just licks you all the time, seeking reassurance and love. Which, of course, in this dog-mad house of ours, she gets in abundance.

Storm