Jonny McCambridge: S’up bro? It’s time for Prime….but only if I can find it first

‘S’up bro?’ he responds drowsily without looking up.

It is just a little thing, but it catches my attention. We live in the same house and there is much overlap in our lifestyles. It is perhaps too easy to assume that the dominant influences in my everyday existence are similarly omnipresent in his. It is not always so.

I have never, ever greeted someone by saying ‘s’up bro?’, and I doubt that I ever will. I am probably reading too much into it, but it seems to illustrate the point well that we can live side by side but still inhabit, to an extent, different worlds.

A few days later and my son approaches me again. His serious expression and tone alert me to the fact that there is something he desperately wants but needs my help to obtain.

‘Daddy’, he begins (note the use of the more endearing descriptive noun when in pleading mode). ‘Daddy, would you be able to bring me to a shop which sells Prime?’

‘Prime?’

‘Yes bro, Prime.’

There is a confused silence which I am eventually forced to break.

‘Prime? What’s Prime?’

My son pulls an expression which is a mixture of incredulity and disgust; I would have a similar reaction if someone asked me what custard is.

‘Prime, bro! It’s Prime!’

I am forced to Google the word ‘Prime’. I discover that it is a drink comprised mainly of filtered water, coconut water and sweeteners.

I read on. It seems that Prime, sold in luridly coloured plastic bottles, has sparked a sales rampage in the few shops that stock the drink in the UK. There have been reports of customers queuing for hours and knocking over shelves and each other to get the product. Stockists had to ration supplies and there were riotous scenes when bottles ran out. Some reports suggested bottles were being sold online for up to £100.

I am intrigued. There seems to be a tsunami of media coverage about Prime, but yet I have never heard of it until this moment. However, my son, despite never having had a bottle, seems to know it intimately. He is able to rhyme off all the various flavours on the market.

‘How is it,’ I ask, ‘that you even know about Prime?’

He shrugs his shoulders.

‘It’s Prime, everyone knows about Prime. All my friends have had it.’

I think about this for a moment. Then I try a slightly different approach.

‘And what is it that is so good about Prime?’

The shoulders rise again.

‘I don’t know daddy, it’s just Prime.’

It is clear that this is an extremely egregious example of style winning out over substance. However, while the product and the level of the reaction to it may be modern, the concepts of fads and peer pressure have always been around.

I can recall a time at primary school when I spent all of my pocket money on fireball jawbreakers just because every other boy in the playground was doing so. The product was foul, but the pain of having a burning mouth was preferable to the pain of being outside of the herd.

As an interesting social experiment, I agree that I will take my son shopping for Prime. I compile a list of the shops which supposedly stock the drink. On our first call we don’t get any further than the front door as a notice is pinned on the window informing customers not to ask for Prime, as they do not stock it. We try two other stores where they have sold out.

My son begins to become discouraged, so I try to cheer him up. He tells me that there is talk in school that there is a sweetie shop in Belfast which sells Prime. I agree to take him there.

We enter the small shop. I approach the counter, look around shiftily, as if taking part if an illegal drugs transaction, and whisper ‘Do you have Prime?’

‘Yes,’ the shopkeeper responds, pointing me towards the array of brightly coloured bottles on the counter, just under my nose.

‘Oh,’ I respond.

My son emits a gasp of excitement. I emit a gasp of anguish when I see they are priced at £12 each. I baulk at paying so much.

‘Daddy, remember you said it would be an interesting social experiment,’ my son says.

‘It’s not that interesting.’

In the end I relent and buy two bottles, advising my boy to drink them slowly as they will have to last for the rest of his life. He tells me this is fine, as it is not really about the drink, it’s more about having the bottle. I shake my head sadly.

My wife and son go to visit another shop while my task is to get the bottles safely back to the car. Walking through the city centre I am stopped twice by groups of people who ask me where I got the Prime. After that I stuff the bottles inside my jumper. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I have a fear that I may be mugged.

I get to the carpark and climb the stairs. When I reach the car, I produce the two bottles. At that moment a young man walks past and greets me enthusiastically.

‘Hey bro, you’ve got Prime! That must have cost a fortune!’

‘Well, indeed.’

I hide the bottles inside the glove compartment and lock the vehicle before leaving to find my family. I find myself thinking that if there are any car thieves around, they will likely take the Prime and leave my old motor behind.