Simon con Leche

I grew up in a musically retarded household, despite my protests I was subject to regular Phil Collins and Level 42 earbuse throughout my formative years. The scars remain. At school I was a coaster, well practiced in the art of classroom sleeping, a bit mouthy.

That was until two men strolled into my school and changed my life forever. These we're drugs educators, on a UK tour to warn kids of the dangers of a life of reckless abandonment and it must have looked good on paper. At the start of class they handed out little cards with information about every drug. But something wasn't right, they had long hair and colourful shirts; they leant on things, tables, doorframes. They were experienced leaners, I was good at reading people and these men were lying. One of them had a far away look in his eye when he talked about LSD, a little smile, a nod and the drug penny dropped, They took drugs! Liars! Sitting in the classroom I felt uneasy, it was like walking into Santa's Grotto to find him shagging the Easter Bunny. I'd rumbled them. I'd always assumed drugs caused near enough instant death and this hadn't really sold them for me. Then someone had thought it a good idea to send the Mick Jagger and Ronnie Woods of the teaching world to reinforce the message and it backfired in spectacular fashion. The next night I was sitting in my room with 2 trips of LSD, I took one, nothing happened, so I took the other one, then the first one kicked in…..shit.

To put it mildly the night was intense. The next morning as I stumbled to school I had realised a few things, firstly that perhaps a weekend night would have been a bit more suitable and perhaps when I was a bit older, secondly, trees are fucking ace. My pockets we're filled with drawings of eyes and I knew I wanted to do something different with my life.

I'm not saying Drugs are great, I'm saying don't lie to kids about them; I could have been middle management in a supermarket. Unfortunately, the brain damage caused by my early adventures has left me disabled in the current world. I can't enjoy Eastenders, try as I might it just appears like one long never ending ‘how to be a person' show. Don't worry if your life's a bag of wank because at least you're not Pauline fucking Fowler or worse, fucking Pauline Fowler. My illness leaves me stunned by sun rises, watching a trail of ants carry some heavy shit or just sitting somewhere being me. I make music, it's what I do, if I live my life in a forest, penniless for the rest of my days that's what I'll do. I don't like music, I fucking love it and Phil Collins can eat my arse!