the year is 1997.

[play the track, it helps with the mood]

i’d been driving for about a month i think. my brother had left for university. the friends i hung around with were pretty popular and we had good times at frequent house parties and pubs that served us at 16. i remember installing a crappy car tape player into my mum’s car so i could rock the drive to school in the ‘tank’ as it was sort of sarcastically called:

volvo 340

i literally got no pussy with this and ours had 5 doors.

i was getting into hip hop quite a bit thanks to classics like ‘i got 5 on it’, ‘gangsters paradise’, ‘california love’ and ‘big bad momma‘. i thought of myself as a rising badass but in reality look more like this dude without the back mullet as much and slightly better glasses. oh and there was probably a shit ton of brylcream in there too:

[i spent 10 mins searching for something that resembled the hair cut, this was the closest. by a mile. and yes i tried bad 1980’s haircuts (i’m aware the year is 1997). and i had a turtle neck at one point.]

i do remember a particularly bad moment combining the car, the music and one of the better looking girls in the school (an 8, easy). after what seemed an age of trying to get her attention, i seized the opportunity to drive her to school. i made sure the tape was in the right place so dr. dre would be bumpin’ just as she walked out her door. and because i paid £7 for the import single at ‘our price’ i made sure she knew it was rare. my palms were sweaty – i remember that clearly. luckily the cheap plastic covering on the volvo’s steering wheel was there to absorb none of the moisture.  i honestly don’t remember what we said for the first few minutes. it was only until i noticed the flashing headlights in my rear view mirror that i knew something was wrong.

i noticed, and so did she. i pulled over and was informed by some dude that i had a flat tire. there was no way i could do a tire change and sara seemed pretty anxious to get to school. the novelty of the free ride had worn off. luck was still on my side though, because mrs. jones just happened to be taking her son to school and wondered if sara would like a lift. they were a nice family and sara accepted, but it was kind of the social equivalent of going to school with this guy and his mum:

1997 was pre-goth though, and david wasn't. you get the point though.

in hindsight, that could have been a sign. before they left mrs. jones let me use her mobile to call my mum (all of this in front of sara of course). i couldn’t find the spare tire and my dad had to come and change it for me.

so other than an ill advised drunken attempt to explain my feelings to her after a-levels (she let me down gently) that’s really all the contact i had with her. they were happy days though and just seeing this video the other day brought it all back.

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2 responses to “the year is 1997.

  1. smooth! i actually thought the mullet photo was you for a second

  2. thanks man. appreciate the confidence boost.

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