Craig Lorentson, who has died aged 44, wasn't a friend of mine, although we both grew up in Grangemouth, in East Central Scotland. My only childhood memory of him is from Primary 1, when we were late for Mrs Rennie's class. We'd been playing up at The Pipes and, as you do when you're five years old, we forgot about the time. Mrs Rennie was not pleased. She sent us out to clean the muck off our shoes. I remember us scraping them on the big rug at the main door. We were confused - they looked clean to us.
Fast forward to the 80s. The Oxgang, the coolest pub in Grangemouth. Craig would be in there with his crowd, taking up the whole corner. Their laughter, like their conversation, was loud. There was a certain amount of envy in the air; it seemed that everyone in the Oxgang was in a band, or at least talking about being in one. But Craig's lot were the real deal - Lowlife had a record out, and they were doing well. They were big 'on the Continent', wherever that was; I'd been to England, once. Craig would be in ripped jeans and white shirt, showing off his tattoo. Those were the days when a tattoo was the mark of a sailor or a con. Whatever, if you had a tattoo, you were a wrong 'un. Craig wore his with pride. And that's how I'll remember him - laughing with his gang, tall and strong, his sleeves rolled up to his armpits, strutting round the Oxgang like he owned it.
Craig wasn't a friend. I wasn't a fan. But his music has been haunting me all day.