How I survived my 20s seems about the most serious “What I did in my holidays” essay ever. To look on the bright side, if I’d have shown the 28-year-old me these words, he’d probably shrug and say it was an achievement that was not always going to be guaranteed, mainly because of what the 28-year-old me was getting up to.
Not to sound too dramatic – nothing was ever crazily out of control – but drink and drugs were a part of my every day life. I suppose you could say they were part of my job. My 28-year-old self would see that as maybe the best part of my job, but the 48-year-old I am now accepts that it was probably the worst. But that doesn’t matter too much as those two versions of me probably wouldn’t have got on that well anyway.
He was a good guy though – and he certainly had lots of fun. So much so that in my version of events, my 20s didn’t finish until I was about 36. I was enjoying them so much that I just kept extending them.
I started my 20s as a kid without too many cares, in a job I quite liked and with a head full of dreams about being a pop star. I watched Top of the Pops and The Tube and spent all my spare time and money watching bands and buying records. Not long after my 20th birthday, I went to Glastonbury for the first time and New Order were the headliners. This was a band I’d gone to see all over the country since I was 15. I stood in front of the Pyramid stage and wanted to close the gap on what I was doing and what they were doing. I just didn’t really know how to. But that’s one of the things about being 20 years old: you know where you want to be but you’ve not got a map. It’s an adult world but you still act like a kid sometimes.
So, my 20s started in 1987 and theoretically finished in 1997. During that decade I joined a band, recorded five albums and three of them went to number one. Things took a sharp turn in 1990 when The Charlatans took off. Jobs were quit – slightly more politely than they do in the movies, in fact I was told I would be welcomed back any time. I often think of walking through the door at ICI in Runcorn, saying I’d changed my mind and did the offer still stand.
They say the spirit of the 60s ended with Altamont and maybe the carefree spirit of my 20s ended in 1996 when we lost Rob Collins, our keyboard player, my songwriting partner, and the kid I sang harmonies with onstage. It didn’t stop my hedonistic ways – in fact it maybe accelerated them, but it was a moment when my charmed life was rudely invaded by reality and tragedy.
The thing about being in your 20s is that you are kind of immune to advice. Or sensible advice, like “have you considered an ISA?”, which doesn’t necessarily cut through all the exciting stuff that’s going on. It feels like older people are jealous of your youth and try to spoil it by boring on about insurance and pensions.
How did I survive? In a literal sense I’m not too sure. Fate certainly plays a part but I survived mentally by keeping as much perspective as possible. We were going from one place to another, singing our songs and writing and recording albums in between. Luckily I didn’t crave fame as I knew what it could do to people. You could see the monsters that had been created when you met other bands at festivals, and what they put the people who worked with them through. So maybe that’s how I survived: I never took myself too seriously.
I remember celebrating my 23rd birthday in Lyon with the band. We were on two tour buses, one for us and one for the crew and an articulated lorry for the gear and a transit for the merch. I had a cake with 23 candles on and I can recall thinking that it was the start of a hectic ride. So, yeah, my 20s were from when I was 23 to when I was 36. I started late, but then I couldn’t put the brakes on.
