Life is short
Filled With stuff
Don't know what for I ain't had enough
I learned all I know by the age of nine
But I can better myself if I could only find
Some new kind of kick
Something I ain't had before
Some new kind of buzz
I want go hog mad I'm lookin and lookin and lookin for
Something I ain't had before
I'm lookin' and lookin' and lookin and lookin to find
Some new kind of kick
-New Kind of Kick- The Cramps
This photo reminds me of my friend Simon Graham. Simon was a couple of years older than me when I met him and he was total Fred Smith III devotee.
I met Simon’s dad first on the compound we lived in near
A’ali on the island of Bahrain. Simon’s dad must have seen me skateboarding
around and approached me one day to tell me he had a son who was about to move
out with him and could I show him around because he’s had some problems. At the
age of twelve or so, it made me feel important and I looked forward to the day
of meeting another expat Brit lad my age, cruising by the house daily until the
mysterious Simon would arrive.
When he arrived, he reluctantly came out to meet me,
probably because his dad forced him. He was wearing tight black jeans wild
spiky hair and a Cramps T shirt
and full of Working Class Glaswegian attitude. He had very little to say
to me and almost seemed irritated by me form the get go. What a let down.
However, he soon picked up skateboarding. It was something I already knew how
to do so I got some begrudging respect from him. Very quickly he developed an
obsession with Fred Smith the III an obscure 1980s skateboarding pro (who was
never really professional if I remember correctly). While the rest of us
worshipped the glamorous Christian Hosoi, Simon was all about this crusty tattooed (way before tattoos were OK with square society) East
Coast Alva boy. He’d only ride Fred Smith boards and soon his spiky hair became
dreads like a true Alva boy. I was pretty fucking impressed and we soon became
mates.
Simon introduced me to some amazing music, had a bogey
collection named 'bob' that was the size of a baby's fist that he would keep in
the drawer beside his bed. He also taught me how to sniff glue (not cool kids,
not cool). I remember I was probably thirteen and Simon was fourteen, and he
was around my house and casually lit a cigarette in front of my mum. No shits
given. I remember asking her afterwards why that was OK with her and she said
something to the effect of, “Well it looked like he knew what he was doing.” I
was proud to be associated with him and enjoyed introducing him to people,
which would often result in a classic snot-faced, “I’m Simon Graham what the
fucks it to you?” Which cracked me up every time.
Often we'd stay around his house listening to bands I'd
never hear of until two in the morning, drinking a crate of beer that his dad
had bought for us. We were pretty tight for about one year and then one day, he
said to me, "You won’t be seeing me much anymore Pete, as I am going to be
pursuing pussy instead of skateboarding." I told him that sounded
ridiculous but fine.
Sure enough, he was true to his word, the dread locks became
flowing long hair, the Cramps became Guns and Roses and girls replaced
skateboards. He lost me and I lost him. I haven’t heard from him since he left
Bahrain. He did say that he could not wait to return to Scotland to try every
drug he could get his hands on. Hopefully he made it safely through that
pursuit. I often wonder how he turned out but really I don’t want to know. It
simply wouldn’t sit well to find out he’s wasting away in an office in front of
a glowing monitor like the rest of us. In fact I hope I never hear from the
wanker ever again.
