When we were at Oakbank School aged about 14 or 15, it was decided to hold a mock general election to coincide with the real General Election taking place that year. We immediately decided that I should stand as a candidate for the Communist party. Steven was my election agent. We were weak on Marxist doctrine, but good at designing election posters, which were immediately ripped down by our enemies at school (there were many). I think we were drawn to it mainly by the cool enamel badges of Lenin's profile that Steven had brought back from a holiday in Bulgaria.

We also started attending something called "Writers Club", along with Stephen Theaker and another friend of ours. It was basically a lunchtime club for geeks. We sat around and talked about books, and role-playing games. Eventually we published a little magazine of science-fiction stories called "Paranoid". Even at the bargain price of 5p, it was poorly received by our peers, who tore up the magazines and flung them all over the hall.

It was Steven who introduced me to role-playing games: Warhammer, Paranoia and especially Call of Cthulhu. Neither of us had read any Lovecraft stories, but I remember poring over the rulebook with him.

I went to my first proper gig with him: the Wedding Present at the Bradford Festival. I think it was the first time either of us had danced in public. Fortunately it was dark by the time the band came on.

I remember many teenage evenings spent sat in his draughty attic bedroom listening to his Big Black and Silverfish tapes, burning joss sticks. We formed a band called the Theakers that lasted a single afternoon, and recorded a demo tape of Black Flag covers, now lost.

We worked together at the Princes Hotel, the worst hotel in Brighton, so bad that it had been blacklisted by the Brighton tourist board, as general skivvies. We spent our Sunday mornings sat in unoccupied rooms, usually hungover, drinking tea and watching the religious programmes on TV when we were supposed to be cleaning rooms. Or else making long and elaborate breakfasts in the hotel kitchen after the guests had finished eating, which we managed to drag out over most of the morning.

He helped persuade me to keep writing, when I was on the point of giving up. I wish I could have done the same for him.