It’s always the night that you “just popped out for one…”. Or simpered without conviction “I’ll be in bed by midnight” – that turn into the biggest, wildest and most epic adventures. Tales Of Excess is a collection of these escapades, scribbled into short stories.
*This particular adventure – it’s important to note – was preceded by a string of anti-ketamine rants. In a vague attempt to detox, WE ourselves had been avoiding it completely. We were now high on a soapboxy kind of self righteousness. WE noted (indignantly) that after-parties of late were disintegrating into dribbling carnage. Whatever happened to a good ol’ fashioned conversation?! What followed eventuated in the sparkliest and sweetest hypocrisy.
It’s an average Saturday night in Northampton. We’re at a gig. It’s empty-ish. A friends band is playing and we’re knocking back vodkas, attempting to balance the dry venue/crowd to fun ratio.
From a dark corner pills are summoned. Inebriated and desperately seeking reprise from the home-town mundanity, myself and two Partners In Crime (PIC), are lighting quick to indulge. Naughty. Within 20 minutes this evening has KABLAMO’D from dry to tsunami level. We’re power thrusting and windmilling; we’re lunging and swinging off (metaphorical) chandeliers. We’re in the danger zone. Not quite ‘red mist’, but close. EVERYONE knows the rules, right? Pills first, then booze. You know the saying? Pills before wine is fine, anything else is just a sloppy mess.
Word of a free party circulates the room. My boyfriend at the time is NOT, I repeat NOT up for it. I am. I’m all over that shit, and thankfully so are the PIC. Everyone is drunk and everyone is high. There’s madness in the air. This is turning out to be QUITE the evening. Frantic energy fills the air. We’re oscillating wildly. My inner speedometer nears Turbo.
Events progress quickly. We’re in a car. We’re in a forest. We’re at a rave. I’ve reached warp speed. Myself and PIC are greeted by – what I can only describe as – the fawn from Pan’s Labyrinth. I think he’s beautiful. I think everyone is beautiful. OH! What’s this? From one of his furry pockets a bag of Magical white powder appears. He offers it up on a cloven hoof. We indulge…of course.
Now shits gettin’ real. For a while we’re happy lolling in the lap of this generous fawn. Gazing up at his curled horns (dreds) and making polite chit chat about his magical foresty home. He hasn’t said much. He’s a mysterious kinda’ guy. But all good things must come to an end, and with that, the magical beast sends us on our merry way.
Psy trance throbs gently in my subconcious. We’re lying on the floor, hand in hand and gazing up at the indigo sky. Through the forest canopy stars twinkle down at us, winking cheekily. We frolic in the moss. It seems as though we’re the only three people in the forest. Feeling energised we amble off into our very own Narnia. Negotiating mountain terrain, thick jungle and even chancing upon Aslan’s rock…it’s an epic adventure. We wobble and vobble in an ecstatic haze. Hours…maybe even days pass by before dawn begins to break.
The psy trance has made its way to the forefront of my mind. Fuck, It’s pretty darn loud. Actually, I note, it’s coming from a massive and carefully built speaker stack. This operation is looking less fairytale by the second. I suddenly notice (to my horror) that there’s a LOT of people around and I’m VERY cold. Clarity hits me like a filthy, and very un-magical sledgehammer.
We’re at a free party…THE free party. This isn’t Narnia, and holy shit…that is NOT Pan from Pan’s Labyrinth. Female PIC mentions to me that her body is tingling. I concur. We examine our surroundings. It appears we’ve been rolling around in nettles, but due to the copious amount of Magical Powder inhaled, we’d felt nothing. Until now.
Reality comes sweeping in with the first light of day. It’s that grimy hour of the A.M when everyone’s looking more baddie from Pan’s Labyrinth than goody from Narnia. The forest shudders. We locate our lift. He’s shitfaced. ‘Sensible’ me quips, “you can’t possibly drive, you’re DRUNK!”. He reminds me of the already forgotten journey here and cackles wildly. I’m afraid. We’re deep in a forest, in the heart of Buckinghamshire and we’re FREEZING. Choices are limited. We belt up and cling to each others burning bodies for dear life. Homeward bound.
The journey is terrifying, but strangely fluffy. Driver (crazed) drives fine, but plays ear splitting techno the entire way – possibly to keep himself awake. We arrive home (earth time 9am). Covered from head to toe in moss, and black with dirt – we’re a strange sight to behold.
*Our bodies tingled for two whole days, no joke – and like two sullied school prefects knocked from their self righteous thrones, we ate humble (we don’t take Ketamine) pie. We also took Ketamine at the next after-party. Sweet hypocrisy. End.