“Faster, Thom, faster!!” shouted the girl on the back of my bike.
We were 14 years old and she had a summer dress and sunglasses on. Quite the summer picture. In her case anyway. I on the other hand was on the verge of a stroke, face the colour of a lobster and embarrassingly sporting the best part of an erection due to breasts being intermittently pressed against my youthful chubby back.
That evening we sat by the river in the moonlight listening to Nirvana’s In Utero.
This being Mr. Cobain’s birthday, I thought I’d share this moment as it was poignant for two reasons.
Firstly, it was a beautiful moment. Second, it was the night I realized I was killer on a rope swing.
Had I spent more time wooing my inamorata and less time shouting “and this move is called the super schlub! Hello? Hello?! At least leave the hobnobs!” then I might have gotten that handjob I had been praying for to the good Lord above since puberty. Ah, youth.
Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain.