I was born into a struggling family in the north west of England. We lived in a small industrial town on the outskirts of Manchester. Glamour was forbidden us, as, it seemed, was the sun. Sunglasses were for Hollywood celebrities and even Coca Cola a mere fantastical fad from a far-off land where the sun always shone. We had rain and wind and cold grey skies. We looked to the city of Manchester and its football teams for hope of life. We dove into books by Enid Blyton and then our lives changed forever… there arrived Star Wars. Magic, at last, entered our lives and then we suddenly started to awake to certain arrivals from this far-off land. We’d see Smoky and the Bandit and be fascinated by the long, empty, hot, dry streets, the blue skies and the sense of freedom that seemed to ooze from the screen.
A short while later we finally took flight from an ice bound northern England and flew to the summer of the southern hemisphere to setup home in South Africa. Suddenly we saw a savage sun and it attacked us with full force as we idiotically indulged as one does when one has not seen or had much of something that suddenly becomes abundant. The chains started to fade away, the shutters started to open, and light started to flow into our lives. I discovered music from my homeland and realized that one of their major goals was to make it ‘stateside’; to cross the Atlantic and to retain the appeal that existed at home. Our televisions and lives became sun soaked, music and film flooded in from America and, as I continued to age, literature came along too. What was this fascinating land across the ocean that promised such fantasy and freedom, such light and fun. Glamour under the sun. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to meet the minds that made Star Wars. I wanted to see the streets that seemed endless and magnificent upon which Chips rode their motorbikes side by side.
Our new home was politically torn. England was still frozen. And even the new world was at war once more and it seemed that everything was ending. In South Africa I could find no one who had even seen Star Wars. I could find no one who listened to punk rock or read the literature that seemed to have shaken off the shackles of our sticky English fiction in which no rules could be broken. It seemed everyone was interested only in making money, in getting married, having children, owning a house and cars and whatever else they held dear. To me, none of that was dear. I became tired of convention. I wanted only the sounds of The Clash, The Cure, The Sex Pistols, Crass, Conflict… and then I discovered Dead Kennedys, Bad Religion, NoFX and a plethora of others. Those guys across the pond had done it once more. They had taken our cold and crude British punk rock and they had added melody and rhythm… it was beautiful.
Jumping forward to today, I live in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and it is not something that I take lightly. Many people ask why I have moved to America and if I don’t miss Europe. It is true that I lived South of London in England’s beautiful Guildford, Surrey, for twelve years and I also had the pleasure of living in Madrid for three years prior to my move to America but, as I mentioned, I was born in an industrial town, I then lived in the crime capital of the world, I struggled financially in Surrey England and even though I finally found happiness and belonging in Madrid, I was still struggling with the language and certain aspects of the culture. Having lived in various places throughout my life I have never truly known ‘home’ and so Cambridge and Boston are as good a home as I could ever have hoped for and I am delighted to be here for as long as possible.
