Jesus, this reminds me of the summer of 1990. I was hanging out wearing a Cool as Fuck t-shirt (like this one but tye-died) in a village which had a strong Garth Brooks fixation and a lot of check shirts.
No wonder I was accused of all sorts of drug related things. At least I wasn’t beating my wife, fingering underage barmaids or generally being evil. In fact, I think that summer may have been the last time I felt kinda content.
Hanging out, playing football, listening to music, smoking a lot of cigarettes (a lot), occasionally getting drunk. No responsibility, the house was quiet and I just wandered. Getting blasted in the spooky Protestant graveyard, climbing the Pub sign (very high) and one major drunken altercation (sorry Mr Man) with a vegetable patch. Sounds like a Hovis commercial for young offenders. Shit, twenty years later…
and this just made me feel miserable and fringe-y.
If you’re out there