A 13-YEAR-OLD I KNOW (WHOSE identity I am thinly veiling to preserve his privacy) came back from school the other day and told me that there was a year 9 kid “dealing Prime” at the back of the class. Apparently, this boy was sourcing the Prime from a supplier in London for £2 ($2.40) a unit before selling it on to children who didn’t know any better for eight quid. “Prime” isn’t, as I first thought, a drug but a sports drink in bright plastic bottles promoted by the YouTube stars KSI and Logan Paul. Prime Hydration contains coconut water, B vitamins and sweeteners, plus branched-chain amino acids (which are used by bodybuilders to promote muscles), and it comes in lurid flavours including Tropical Punch and Blue Raspberry. Another version of the drink called Prime Energy also contains 200mg caffeine: more than twice as much as a can of Red Bull. A headteacher at a different school reports that older children have been taking empty bottles of Prime, filling them with water and selling them to naive year 7s, who are left in tears when they discover it isn’t the real thing. It seems there is no shortage of 11-to 15-year-old boys prepared to pay £8 for these glorified bottles of squash, which have become a status symbol of sorts. Actually, £8 isn’t even that expensive for Prime, which last year was selling for £19.99 and upwards a bottle at an off-licence in Wakefield known as Wakey Wines, which developed a cult following after customers started filming themselves buying expensive soft drinks there and putting it on TikTok.
Something strange is happening in the world of energy drinks. These concoctions – soft drinks that claim to boost potency and productivity – have been around in one form or another since the 1940s. But never before have they been such an intense and frequently purchased object of desire. In some convenience
