by Ollie Locke
When I wasn’t dressing up as Superman my style was generally awful. It’s hard to imagine, I know. I wore big Fubu skater jeans and trainers. My inspiration came from Rupert’s sister, who was a real skater girl and always looked really ‘street’ and cool. Rupert and I both tried to steal her style. I didn’t have a skateboard, but I had my Bauer rollerblades, which I thought made me look very credible and almost gave me permission to dress the way I did. How wrong I was.
I spent most of my late teens going on holidays to Rock in Cornwall. When Mum had no money she wanted to make sure that my sister and I still had holidays with her, so when I was 12 she ended up borrowing a run-down campervan from a friend, which we took to Rock, much to mine and Amelia’s embarrassment.
We ended up falling totally in love with the place and that Christmas Granny bought us our own caravan in Polzeath. Now before you all imagine me as even more of a loser, they are awesome, and I stand by that.
To many people a caravan is their idea of hell. But I don’t mind admitting that I love a good caravan and they have resulted in some of the best memories of the last 10 years. Polzeath is a lovely family holiday spot with great restaurants and beautiful beaches. It wasn’t particularly well known when we first started going there, but one summer Princes William and Harry were photographed surfing on Polzeath beach, and this automatically made it the coolest place for anyone from public school to go to. For once, and it’s still pretty cool, I was ahead of the game.
Even now Cornwall is very important to me. It’s not just a place I go to when everything is going well, but also when everything goes wrong. There have been times when I’ve had break-ups and low points and I’ve driven myself down there in the middle of the night so I can be somewhere completely alone. It’s so beautiful and I can sit and think and try to deal with what’s going on in my life. Usually it’s something to do with a relationship.
Port Isaac is just down the road, which is where the TV show Doc Martin is filmed. It’s completely idyllic. Port Quin, now that’s the place I go to when I’m really upset. It’s my own little secret spot. There’s a seat there that has ‘OL’ and ‘PH’ carved into it – mine and Pugsley’s initials – which we did when we were 14. I love going there to get inspiration. It’s one of the only places where I don’t mind being alone. It’s a little cove in the middle of nowhere and very few people know about it.
The only problem with the caravan was the portable loo. No one wanted to empty the caravan loo at the end of the week, so trips to the freezing-cold shower block were the only way forward.
However, the legend of the Beast of Bodmin, which is about a giant wild creature akin to Bigfoot that lives on the moor, was always at the back of our minds. I don’t mind admitting that I was seriously worried that it did actually exist, and that I would be hunted down by it. Needing a wee at 2am and going to the loo on your own is a no go. So Pugsley and I would often resort to weeing into a plastic bottle, which by the end of the holiday became a game of who could fill it up the most. Pugsley usually won; damn his northern bladder.
If anyone on the site annoyed Pugsley and me we used to sneak out in the middle of the night after a few bottles of wine and put bread on the top of their caravan roof so that in the morning they would be woken up by the sound of hundreds of seagulls scratching at the roof. At the very least we’d hope it would cut short their lie-in, even better if they thought the beast was attacking them.
By the time I was 16 I had some friends who could drive, so we used to head off to the caravan for the weekend on our own. We decided to spend the summer after our GCSE exams hanging out on the beach drinking a rather lethal mix of Rattler cider and beer, and trying to feel up girls. It was one of the best times of my life.
To celebrate the end of exams, we decided to go to what was probably the only club there. I still looked quite young for my age, so I knew I had very little chance of getting in – even with the fake ID I had ordered from an advert I found in the back of Loaded magazine.
I came up with this ingenious idea of sticking some of my pubes to my chest using Pritt Stick to make me look older than I was. The sun was setting over Cornwall and I went to the caravan drawer and found some old Scrabble pieces, the ever-present pack of condoms, and a Pritt Stick. I originally planned to use some of my head hair, so I took the kitchen scissors and snipped it off, but it didn’t look right: it was too straight. So I went into the bathroom, cut off 40 per cent of my pubes, which had just grown back, and tried to stick them onto my chest.
My sister knew exactly what I was doing and she found it hilarious, but I was the one with the smile on my face later than night. I swear to God, it worked.
With my summer tan, long hair and wispy beard, I looked like a Greek god. Well, a Greek god with Pritt-Stick chest pubes. I felt so smooth – it was a major triumph.
With the summer sadly coming to an end it was time to go back to school. I decided to move schools to do my sixth form years. I felt like I’d grown out of Embley Park, so Mum and I looked around for other places. Bizarrely, I chose a Quaker school called Sibford in Banbury, Oxfordshire.
When I went for the initial interview the headmaster told me that they couldn’t let me in because I had failed GCSE maths, and they urged me to re-take it. I replied in no uncertain terms that I would rather eat my own scrotum than re-take that ghastly exam and I asked them to take me even without the proper qualification. I must have been pretty convincing because they agreed to let me in.
I didn’t know anyone else when I enrolled at Sibford because all of my friends stayed on at Embley Park. It was quite hard leaving them but we stayed in touch via phone and, although it seems very old-fashioned now, we sent each other letters.
I knew I wasn’t the coolest kid by any stretch of the imagination, but as soon as I started there something shifted and suddenly for the first time I seemed to be popular. I decided to mark this transition, this fresh start, by dyeing my hair blond. As you do.
I wanted to look like Charlie from Busted, but I ended up looking more like an early Gary Cockerill, one of Katie Price’s glam squad. Needless to say, it wasn’t a strong look, but my fellow pupils were quite country bumpkin-ish, and I am not sure they had ever seen hair dye since Top of the Pops was decommissioned. Also, I was different and much more streetwise. I had grown up on the mean streets of Southampton. Well, sort of. I also pretended to be something of an actor, which I think some of my fellow students considered quite cool.
I was still desperate for a girlfriend, for that elusive serious relationship which, despite years of persistent searching still hadn’t materialised. Being at a new school surely afforded me the chance to meet someone?
On the very first day when I walked into the lunch hall there was a girl sitting alone who stood out from all the rest.
She was called Tilly – and she was just incredible. She was very skinny, with long brown hair, and wore the shortest skirts you can imagine. She was like Nina the barmaid, but sluttier. And, more importantly, she was my age.
I had befriended Ed, the head of sports, and he introduced me to Tilly over a sandwich. In my usual subtle style and with absolutely nothing to lose, I asked her if she had a boyfriend. She smiled coyly and said no. After having a small celebration in my head (and pants) I decided that one day soon I would make her my real girlfriend.
I later found out through various people she had been lying and that she had a long-term boyfriend. This confused me. Why would she say she was single if she wasn’t? It was too late, I had already fallen for her. And from that initial meeting she went on to play a huge part in my life, as for the next two years Tilly and I were completely inseparable. She almost instantly became what I thought was the love of my life and my best friend rolled into one. We were both doing A-level art and the teachers rather stupidly left us to work alone in the art block in the evenings. We used to go up to the top of the building and snog; I may have even groped a boob once, but we didn’t go any further. I would only let my
self snog her because of her boyfriend, who was still on the scene. Yes, I know it was wrong, but I was infatuated.
We almost became like brother and sister – who snogged. We were so close that if ever a teacher wanted to find one of us, instead of saying, ‘Where’s Ollie?’ or ‘Where’s Tilly?’ they would say, ‘Where are Ollie and Tilly?’
Nothing else mattered to me; not work, not teachers, just her. She was such a rebel. She used to listen to blink-182 and wear cropped tops and miniskirts. It was 2004 and that was rebellious and very cool, I’ll have you know. It might not sound very risqué, but to someone in a Quaker boarding school in the middle of a country village, that was rebellious. Whenever teachers used to tell her off for basically wearing no clothes, she would stare blankly at them, ask if they had finished and then walk off. She didn’t give a toss, and I adored her for it. At this point, I was still dressing in my skater-boy style, but I later discovered my love of fashion through a new friend, Tululla.
Tululla was an amazing girl. Her mother had recently died and left her with three godparents: Cath Kidston, Julien Macdonald, and Christian Louboutin. She certainly got better Christmas presents than I ever did. So that October we went to London to stay with Cath Kidston at her home for the whole of Fashion Week. I knew I had to look cool so I wore jeans and some brand-new Converse, and I wrapped a shoelace around my wrist several times so it looked like a bracelet. Tilly told me to do it. I turned up at Julien Macdonald’s show wearing what I thought was a real statement top that said ‘Michael Jackson is innocent’ on the front. Then some bitch walked in wearing a T-shirt with the words ‘Camilla for Queen’ emblazoned across the front, and I was furious that she’d stolen my near-paparazzi thunder.
Being surrounded by all these people gave me yet another taste of what I wanted my life to be in the future. It made me much more aware of fashion and I started to develop my own style even more and take risks with what I wore. Not always successfully, I hasten to add.
That trip wasn’t without its low points, however. Julien invited us along to the after-show party at a club called Tantra. They were all so kind to me and treated me as if I was family. Talulla was 18 by then, but I had to lie to Julien and use fake ID to get into the club.
We were sat at a table when Rachel Stevens from, at that time, S Club 7 fame, came and sat down with us. She had just broken up with her long-term boyfriend Jeremy Edwards and she was so unbelievably hot.
I was smoking Vogue cigarettes as I thought they were very cool (looking back, I couldn’t have looked more gay), and began trying to chat her up. After several large glasses of wine I was convinced she’d be interested in a 17-year-old virgin with little or no prospects.
When I was going through a shit time at Embley during my disastrous exams I always used to listen to S Club 7’s ‘Reach For The Stars’ because the lyrics were inspirational, which I remember telling her. What. A. Dick. She was very sweet and smiled as I rambled on, and a part of me honestly thought I was in there with her. I quite obviously wasn’t.
We stayed with Julien that night and he suggested we all headed to this club he loved. I was very excited about going to another London club. After several vodkas I went to the loo, where all these guys were smiling at me. I couldn’t understand it. Unless … they all fancied me? Maybe I was a hit with the gays even though dating a man wasn’t something I was thinking about back then. Then I looked down and realised that I was weeing onto an enormous mirror so that the entire bathroom could see my willy. They found it hilarious that I hadn’t noticed.
I was so naïve. As I nervously ran out of the loo some random guy walked up to me and said, ‘Charlie?’ I politely reached out my hand and said, ‘No, I’m called Ollie.’ He rolled his eyes and said, ‘No, I mean, do you want some cocaine?’ Oh dear. I politely declined and hurried back to find Tululla, burning with embarrassment. Clearly I had a lot to learn.
Until that point the only celebrity I’d ever seen was Lily Savage in panto at the Southampton Mayflower, so it was an unbelievable experience to meet all of those famous people. I wasn’t starstruck, but I loved it. I loved the whole world, and I knew that I had to do everything I could to be part of it.
For the entire time I was at Sidford, Tilly drove me slightly mad because she wouldn’t/couldn’t be with me as she was still in a secure long-term relationship with her boyfriend, Finn. I used to cry myself to sleep in my dorm over my feelings for her and every day I hurt a little bit more. I know she would never have upset me intentionally, she just didn’t know how strongly I felt about her.
The longer I knew her, the harder it became for me not to be with her. It was like we were in a relationship, but at the same time we weren’t. We spent every moment together, but it never went further than the occasional snog in secret or hand-holding as friends (you know when you swing your joined hands back and forth? For me it was the only way I could hold her hand without it seeming weird).
I’m not sure she was even that happy with Finn. I think she was so secure with his family and the whole set up that she couldn’t see a life without him.
Weirdly, in time, Finn and I ended up becoming good friends and I used to go and stay at his house sometimes. I felt terribly guilty about the fact that I had been snogging his girlfriend behind his back, and worried that if he ever found out he would beat me up.
I knew it wasn’t right but I thought I loved her. There was a very thin line for me between the guilt I felt and my obsession. My obsession almost masked my guilt because I had such strong feelings for her.
Despite the angst I felt, the three of us used to hang out a lot, along with another girl from school: Annabel.
One Friday evening we were all out at a pub near Finn’s parents’ house. I was trying to be cool and drink pints of beer with Finn. At that point in my life I don’t think I’d ever drunk more than one pint and I hated them. It tasted like someone had taken a perfectly good glass of water, farted in it and put it back in the fridge for later. But I wanted to look like a proper lad.
For some reason, Finn decided that it would be hilarious to have a foursome that night. My entire world came to a halt. So the boyfriend of the girl I was in love with, wanted me to have sex with her in front of him. Only one problem: I was a fucking virgin. I was terrified at the thought of having sex, let alone the fact that if I were to do it with Tilly it would inevitably last little more than a few minutes. I knew I would have to think about something disgusting to stop myself finishing early, but I couldn’t think what. Seriously, start accumulating things in your mind that you want to think of, like your granny pooing or Susan Boyle’s cat. At the same time I was very, very excited.
After the pub closed we started walking back to Finn’s house. The girls were walking a few steps in front, giggling and whispering, while Finn and I held back to discuss what was going to happen when we got back. All of a sudden my stomach started churning and I knew I was going to throw up. Maybe it was a mixture of beer and nerves but there was no way of holding it in. Finn turned to me and hissed, ‘Don’t throw up. If you’re sick, the girls won’t want to shag us.’
Somehow I managed to projectile vomit onto some grass while still walking so the girls didn’t suspect a thing. To be honest, I can’t even remember if I brushed my teeth when I got home, I was so nervous.
Back in Finn’s bedroom we awkwardly slumped onto the beds that had been made up on the floor by Finn’s mum, and started fumbling around. Instead of concentrating on Finn, Tilly immediately started kissing and straddling me. I looked over and I could see that Annabel was sitting on top of Finn, but he couldn’t take his eyes off us.
Things got quite serious and Tilly and I were moments away from having sex – at last! We were both naked, she was on top of me, and her boyfriend knew all about it. What could go wrong?! Then suddenly Finn leapt up, turned the lights on and went crazy jealous. I ended the night half naked, still a virgin, with the girl I wanted more than anyone sloping off to bed with her boyfriend. That was my
first, and last, foursome, and it certainly didn’t go as I’d hoped.
My time at Sibford was quite a strange one. On one hand it was awful because I was constantly heartbroken over Tilly, but on the other it was great because I was away from everything I was used to. I was living in the middle of the countryside and I had much less academic pressure as I had chosen all vocational subjects.
I even joined the rugby team for a week. I know it’s hard to imagine me roughing it out in the mud, but Tilly’s travel and tourism class overlooked rugby practice so I thought it would be a good way to impress her. In the end I decided that getting beaten up by 15 guys in the faint hope that she would watch me catch a ball was not worth it.
Around this time, I became good friends with an openly gay guy named Jeff from the local village. I was so messed up about Tilly and used to go for long walks during which I would speak to him about my relationship problems, and how desperately I wanted to be with Tilly. One night, something quite strange happened. We were both having a cigarette and laughing and having fun and then suddenly we were kissing. I was so taken aback because I wasn’t expecting it. I had certainly found certain guys attractive in the past, but I thought that all men appreciated a good-looking guy in the same way they appreciate girls they fancy. But this was totally different.