To start with David and I had to walk nine miles with the heaviest bags evar because my mother couldn't be bothered to bear the obscene amount of traffic on the Thursday morning.
We got in and managed to meet up with Kappo who had acquired a huge plant pot full of water and icy-cool beers. We set up our tent in the right place on our third attempt and then successfully obtained our beautiful pink wristbands.
After some cursory exploration, David and I decided it would be a perfect idea to drop my stash of 'shrooms. As we were munching them carefully with Skittles, Kappo came into the tent and begged to get in on the trippage action. And so we had to run to the nearest supply line where he bought ten grams of phil stos to share with me back at the campsite.
At about T-plus-twenty Russell decided it would be awfully cool to 'phone me and ask to meet up. Thus, the three of us went on a mission to find his tent and chequered flag. We walked round the river for miles, with the flagpole in sight the entire time. After jumping over a river and looping round a huge field, we finally made our way over to his tent which turned out to be only about fifty yards away from mine. At this point we'd dropped about forty five minutes earlier and the mushroom juice had just started to kick in. I tried to speak to Russell, Pauline and Bea and explain my difficulty with basic interactions, but it was too late. The unmistakable thoughts were rushing through my head and I smiled and I recognised them from last time and welcomed them in. Serotonin surged into my brain cells and somehow I made an excuse to get us away from people and we made our way back the proper way to the campsite again.
Trip the second had begun...
I was lying on the ground staring at the sun and some mans came past and looked down on us and mocked us for being "fucked already". Some man persuaded David to eat a lot of grass (which he promptly set about doing) and then went round commanding people to say "Schmeeeeeeeeeeee". I just kept smiling and looking at the sun.
David freaked me out a lot in a good way by constantly and perfectly quoting huge passages from familiar material that couldn't have been more apt or scarily appropriate: Alice in Wonderland, The Matrix and endless profound lyrics and sly references. Together, we shouted ever more fitting quotations into each other's face desperately vying to outdo one another in the headfuck stakes. David is a wonderful man in the truest meaning of the word.
At some time I found Kappo lying on the grass moaning and complaining that he wished he'd never taken mushies. He was adamant that he wanted the trip over right then. Remembering Eric's advice, I suggested he should drink some milk. This he promptly did, downing a pint then throwing up soon afterward. It seemed that vomiting did nothing to soothe his bad experience however, and he soon retired to the tent to try and sleep it off. However, for the next few hours, he claims to have been plagued by terrifying visions and spiders crawling all over his body.
David and I wandered around exploring this new wonderland. There was a haggard old woman dragging her three young children along (all clad in rags) for a life-building experience just like it was the sixties all over again. We couldn't help unsubtly walking past a few times and gawping. Also: a man prancing about on crutches who, all of a sudden, dropped them and strode off without any support. This confused us tremendously especially David who hadn't realised the bloke was only borrowing his friends crutches and our looks of amazement hadn't been interpreted as mindless staring at a man perceived as freaky and different.
We wandered around some more separately then found in other in a huge field filled with thousands of cars, all alike. Cars, cars, cars, cars – row upon row of them stretched out in every direction. Somehow, we had failed to notice this Matrix-esque car-farm before despite it being adjacent to our tent. Finding ourselves embedded in this gargantuan maze was the same rude shock as that of a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free cashpoint yet, in my eyes, the excitement was typical of the type brought on by psilocin. This meant, instead of being bemused and upset, I revelled in the sense of wonder and new perspective on everything I was allowed. Merrily we skipped down the aisles of automobiles shouting across coloured steel four-doors to each other and only becoming a little worried when we thought we saw a deceased chap slumbering in the front seat of his sun-illuminated hatchback.
Kappo was still unwell and I had a mini-dilemma about what to do. Being unable to think "normally" obstructed me and I couldn't help feeling a huge sense of guilt due to having introduced him to the drug, even though it was he who pleaded for it. Naturally, I held a responsibility to look after him since his trip turned to the worse and even though I was informed that there was nothing that could be done bar simple reassurances, I was inwardly terrified of the usual things (still being new to all this) – scare-stories about flashbacks, insanity and regaining the ego. In the end, I became lost within myself and resolved to enjoy it while it lasted.
All the while, my ears continually transposing sounds even more effectively than last time. In addition to feeling that I could hear a quadrillion different conversations at once and experiencing a weird multi-layered Doppler-shift sensation as I walked, I "heard" sounds that hadn't been uttered yet or had been said some time in the past. I was hearing really weird shit for a couple of hours and caught myself turning round to a phantom name caller many a time. Because of this, not surprisingly, when a Concorde flew over I really confused myself. I heard the roar of a supersonic jet and saw people around me looking up and pointing but, when I gazed skyward, nothing was there to be seen. It took several seconds of scanning the brilliant blue hemisphere above me before I located the aeroplane and several more minutes for me to properly work out and digest in my head why I heard the plane's noise come from a different direction to its position. My messed-up aural sense also played a cunning trick when the evening's first round of the infamous "Bollocks!" shout rumbled round the various campsites. For a few moments, I was even convinced that they were testing the distant speaker-systems on the Main Stage.
Once again, I was completely headfucked by the notion of contemplating the nature of normality and what constitutes it. How can one ever quantitatively know what it feels like to be "normal"? Can you hear me there at the back, Dr. Proudfoot?
My ears were really messed up as I went round for a wander exploring some of the more distant campsite and staring at the sky in search for a deity. At some point, I even tried to initiate a conversation with Bog. I gave him a chance to convert me as I was in the (vulnerable?) state that would have made it easiest: detached from reality, overwhelmed by beauty and furiously searching for spirituality. Naturally, I received no sign, but then it never was about that, was it?
My hearing had now nearly vanished and I was effectively deaf when I bumped into Jenny from my English set. This was the friendly girl who told me about Esso and earned my respect when I saw she'd printed out sheets from Guerrilla News Network. As she started to speak to me, I tried to explain my desperately confused condition and missing sense but there was no way I could tell her which chemical was really messing with my brain. I mumbled something about not really being myself and being in a bit of a state but she interrupted to say that she understood. Before I had time to suggest that no, she really didn't, she had taken me by the hand and was dragging me tripping between tightly packed guy ropes and tent pegs. She led me to her campsite where I went from being amazed by just about everything to utterly flabbergasted by the magnitude of the headfuck facing me. The guy and girl I'd seen at several Miss Black America gigs but never really spoken to was now being introduced to me as the friend of this girl I met a year ago in Canters and who I'd thought myself fortunate to run into amongst the hundreds of thousands of strangers in this humongous campsite. My head was spinning uncontrollably and I attempted to make an excuse before stumbling hurriedly away.
Later on, I had the same trouble trying to explain away the abnormal behaviour I was convinced I exhibited when I chanced upon my good chum Milk Boy.
I lay on the ground while wonderful and familiar music was played to me and couldn't stop beaming as the chemicals enhanced the experience immeasurably. Looking up, I saw a ball flying back and forth above me: two people from our camp were playing scatch. All of a sudden the surreal absurdity of the very concept of scatch hit me: usually a bat is a hitting implement but here is a game where the very object is to catch a ball with it.
I experienced something familiar from my other psychedelic odysseys. When I looked at other people I saw them as Cyclopes for the first few minutes with just one eye centred on their foreheads. This was disconcerting enough but it got worse. I began to overanalyse everyone else's perceptions and thought processes and feel something weird like paranoia. The one eyed people disappeared and were replaced by mans with another pair of eyes superimposed just above their eyelids. This freaked me out even more and they were especially prominent on David, meaning I couldn't bear look at him or anyone else in the face at all. I kept having to look away and avoid any sort of trivial conversation because their eyes just scared me so much. Whilst walking amongst people, there were times when time seeming to stand still for everyone for a few milliseconds while a random person in the anonymous crowd would turn and single me out with a brief demonic glare before turning back and letting time flow normally again. I remember the same thing happening with Val once and it terrified me just as much this time. In addition to this, when I looked through the meshed mosquito nets that made up the tent windows and saw David's already-pretty-fucked-up face leering up at me, it was so distorted and horrifying I had to stifle my terror and catch the scream in my throat.
Still the most wonderful feelings in the world were yet to come. Beauty and splendour and marvel crept over the horizon and entered my skull for the final three hours of the trip and the come-down.
Kappo was near recovery and David was somewhere else carefully watched over by Heysteve and a superb man named Saudi. I lay back on a verdant spot of still-lush grass and looked up to the heavens. A flag was flapping in the gentle breeze just at the outer corner of my field-of-vision and I settled into the soft earth for Nature's show.
Low, ominous and overbearing cumulus were hanging just over an arm's length away like an galactic mobile all decked out for my viewing pleasure. Everyone else was too drunk to notice and busy going through the initiation procedures of familiarising themselves with the fellows around the same fire. I vaguely felt that I was missing out on meeting a new bunch of people for the days ahead and the alcohol in their had reduced the usual density of conversational macros but, because none of them thought to look up, they were missing out on something of a degree of beauty that humans can never hope to create. I didn't care what anyone thought of me or what I could learn about them because I already felt I'd transcended the day after today. Tomorrowness ceased to mean anything.
Blue patches of sky diffused through the fluffy white clouds and round the sides of the flapping material above me. Toward the horizon the clouds got darker and more menacing but the sun was bursting through the wisps of black; it's corona shore through and the brilliant light seemed to melt away the distant twilight. I continued to look upward at the gargantuan bags of cotton wool while the warmth reflected off my cheeks from far-away. At the edge of the earth the sun was slowly breaking through the tenebrous puffs. And then the whole earth began to spin toward its horizon and legions of clouds zoomed past rushing by inches above my head. Still they came: the tremendous behemoths of floating moisture rushed past my face and arched over behind me so fast and so very close. The sun continued to shine though filling me with an enormous sense of well-being and all in the world was good. I felt that my hair was flapping and face ought to be contorted and stretch back with my lips stretched out, my cheeks puffed and my eyes bulging like a fighter pilot hitting six Gs – such was the apparent acceleration of the clouds rushing toward me and I toward them. I had reached hyperspace, I was going at warp speed: it was like those mindblowing trippy scenes in 2001: A Space Odyssey when Dave confronts his own death. It was exactly the same as the hippies' versions of starfield simulation you find posters of in head shops or animated to psychedelic trance beats at massive raves. The sun speckled clouds continued to rush toward me and zoom past just above my nose and I never stopped hurtling toward the ever receding horizon and its battle between black and light. Such beautiful velocity, yet though I lay there for what must have been about three hours staring in awe at the display lent to me, everything ended up static. As time wore relentlessly on the crepuscular gloaming crept in and began to surround me and, as the sun began to set, I'd come all the way down.
I sombrely pulled myself up and quietly contemplated the lingering chaos before going over to find out who everyone was.
Afterward I laughed at everything because I now realise that nothing at all makes any sense whatsoever.
And this time I was even more reluctant to write about the whole experience. Especially because it's a third of a year later. acidexia said that writing trip reports is like trying to explain the concept of colours to the blind. I'm inclined to agree. As Iris Murdoch once explained at a dinner party in her youth: ninety percent of everything we say turns out to be a lie because we are simply incapable of finding the language to fully explain our experience of it all. Just about everything ever communicated is untrue except the most trivial statements like "pass the hydrator please". Like explaining the colour spectrum to someone lacking in the visual sense since birth and to a greater extent to trying to describe the emotions we feel to someone else, a trip report is a meaningless endeavour. You went there and you're not me – it's irrelevant and ultimately pointless. You can never understand; you will never be able to know. My attempt at letting you know what the experience felt like is irrational and devoid of purpose. The necessary words don't exist and never will.
And once again I had cause to reflect on my being sheltered from all sorts of drugs for so long...
And then we partied for the next three days and the nights never ended and all was good forevermore.
That Thursday night was the best ever. I was overwhelmed by the festival atmosphere and wandered about getting lost in the eclectic and diverse range of people all wanting to be your friend. Everywhere you looked there were people who supported Portsmouth, were making music, running naked, offering free hugs, offering novel ideologies, peddling drugs, preaching politics, creating art or simply sharing love. It was blissful. Never before have I spoken to so many random people and shared so many joints with strangers.
We stopped off for an impromptu disco round a campsite we'd stepped over trying to find friends and they played Underworld for David to dance to.
While we returned to the main pathway, I spoke to a strange girl and we mutually winked and decided that we were long-lost best friends. I sat down opposite her while her friends strummed guitars round a raging campfire and we quickly fabricated a shared childhood for a good few minutes. At first my companions were bemused but then, as I spoke more to this completely unfamiliar girl, they were quickly convinced. Over the next couple of hours we passed by her several more times and upon each occasion, dredged up more fantastical yarns from an imagined past to share again. It also took us a whole two days to realise that she was friends with some bloke sat round the same fire the whole time who is a South African gap-year student currently at my school. That was fucking weird too.
I spoke lots to Russell and made up with Pauline whose anger had somehow become quelled by the whole incident of encountering me all 'shroomed up. We shared bucket bongs and drunk lots and only Bea was a bitch toward me. Russell also introduced me to a former bum chum who was called Jamie and, although he was completely fucked when we met, was the campest human I have ever encountered.
We slept after seven and woke by nine and the pattern continued day after day.
I hung with Hannah for most of the first evening, we both got horribly drunk and, for reasons I can no longer recall, she had nowhere to stay and therefore spent the night in my tent. I think she had made some feeble excuse about her inability to find the way back to her tent she was sharing with a girl from school called Verity (who seems decent enough).
Friday night was almost as eventful, although you must appreciate that my memory isn't perfect and the events I'm about to describe may well have occurred on Thursday, Saturday or even Sunday evening. We went round exploring for some while and found Red Chris and Portsmouth fans at one point. We saw six naked men placing about and I chased after them hoping for photographic evidence. However, misfortune struck as I failed to make my disposable camera function in time before they had disappeared into the darkness and crowds of revellers.
Heysteve had numerous arguments with Blinkgirl – a charming ragamuffin who couldn't help proclaiming her love for Blink 182 at every moment. Heysteve started off by cussing them in that jovial manner he so perfects but, as she continued to come up with defences and reasons why Tom DeLonge doesn't suck dick, he became increasingly vitriolic and abusive. Heysteve ignored all bounds of compassion as he continued to flung acerbic bile in her direction in exacerbation long after Blinkgirl appeared utterly defeated and almost on the verge of tears. Her arguments were met with bitter accusations, denunciations and hatred and still he wouldn't let up until she crawled feebly away from the campfire, mortally wounded. The next day Blinkgirl was cheered up by being lifted on stage during Blink 182's show but Heysteve soon turned up and attempted to steal some of her limelight by proclaiming their set the best gig he'd ever been to in his life and hailing his new rock idols with sycophantic encomia.
There were also about five girls staying near our tent who, confusingly, all shared the same christian name.
We befriended some random girls who offered us free beers and vino tinto. One was a younger sister who was incredibly hott and her attractiveness was only increased by her exceedingly cute lispish voice that made her seem about nine years old. As she was utterly wankered, Heysteve naturally tried to bone her; ultimately to no avail. We walked around with them the whole evening, got lost for about three hours and introduced them to all manner of strange people (including some of Russell's bumfriends) we met upon the way. A thousand strangers, hugged us, in introduced us to singalongs and intoxicated debauchery and party games. We departed from their company at what must have been about four and promised to meet up the next day in a giant tent designed solely for dancing and falling over. A combination of forgetfulness and distractions ensured that we never met up with these enjoyable females again.
I queued up for the McDonald's toilet for ninety minutes on the Saturday morning and, as such, missed the arrival of the radiant girls: Catriona, Tara and a flirtatious Sophie. After they went off to see rubbish skapunk bands, I went off with Hannah and we purchased something claiming to be MDMA but which merely incessantly buzzed in my head and pissed me off because I couldn't concentrate on what people were saying. Harriet arrived and said hi before disappearing forever and Hannah fed me million and millions of poppers. Waiting for the good bands to come on I bade my time with a few beers and then far far far too much weed in the hope that it would make the buzzing go away. Unfortunately that was not the case and I soon felt unwell.
I admit it: I failed. I lay shivering on the grass despite the cloudless sky and the thermometers reaching up toward thirty degrees. I couldn't stop retching, desperately trying to remove the toxins from my body. I was almost delusional and couldn't really think straight. My whole body was freezing cold and I was violently shaking, yet sweat was pouring off my entire body as through I were in a sauna. After perhaps an hour of trying to throw up, I finally achieved it and, over the next twenty minutes, repeatedly emptied my stomach of its contents until I was heaving dryly and painfully. It was about two thirty when I looked up to see Sophie with the others – she was still cutely smiling but now looked through me and no longer gave me those coy little looks. I rolled away from the patches of sick in the grass and lay down to troubled sleep for the next three hours or so. I felt I'd missed a lot more than the day's music.
Later that day I was feeling sufficiently well to get up and walk into the arena. I only felt up to watching The Cooper Temple Clause and Hundred Reasons from afar which, as you can imagine, was a mighty shame.
By that evening I was feeling sufficiently well to walk around freely but not to be able to appreciate Blur's set. I didn't know any of the new songs and couldn't care to concentrate nor get anywhere near the main stage, so went back to the campsite where I could still just hear them playing. I think this was the evening on which David disappeared for several hours. After some form of fucking about and getting drunk again Catriona and Tara took Sophie and I over to the tent of her male chums about nine hundred miles away. We must have stayed there from about two to four thirty and, although it was all very relatively amicable, I knew none of them and found myself becoming steadily more bored. At quarter to four a torrential downpour began and some abused girl remained outside throughout, lying rather to close to the rapidly dying fire completely comatose. All the others put out their spliffs and dived into the tents with the rest of us crowding in afterward. I remained outside for a good half hour seeing as there appeared to be no room for me. During that half hour Sophie and Tara continued to complain of tiredness and Catriona adamantly refused to return to our tent such was her desire for one of the man's cock. Eventually we came back to the fire and, tiredness instantly forgotten, stayed up chatting for a good hour or so during which Heysteve made about four passes each at Tara and Sophie. After Catriona had finally returned and people were retiring to their tents for the purpose of slumber, I led the three girls into my tent where David was already sleeping and, after a lot of giggling, we managed to squeeze in and get a short rest.
It was fun waking up to The Chilis' Otherside coming through the static on the communial radio.
On the Sunday I was feeling really rather knackered due to having washed so rarely, taking so many many downers and only lying down for about seven hours over three nights. I still managed to see several wonderful bands but, after exhausting myself all over again in The Eighties Matchbox, I lay on the grass outside the Radio One tent and drifted in and out of sleep to the bands around Hell Is For Heroes. As I was on my back passing between various states of unconsciousness, I was roused by the shadow of two figures standing over me. One was a man trying to talk to me and the other was a hott Asian chixor. Although I was far too dazed and exhausted to pay attention to what was going on or even realise I was actually awake the guy chatted to me for a while and took a photograph of me while the chixor stood next to him and smiled a lot. I woozily trotted back to the tent later on at which point I kinda realised the enormity of what had happened. Waking amongst the gargantuan Reading crowds, this bloke had noticed my Mikabomb t-shirt as I was sprawled on the grass by some loud bands. He woke me up, introduced the chixor as both his girlfriend and none other than one of the hotties from the fricking band. Like no way dooder! A mans from Mikabomb had spotted me at Reading by virtue of my Mikabomb-branded clothing purchased way back then and spoken to me and photograph my body. I hastily txtz0red TD and Abu and everyone else to gloat and was rewarded when they then rang me back crying. It also reminded me of that time I was walking down the High Street in Canters avec Russell and saw some mans walking past me with a Mikabomb t-shirt on. I yelped "yay mikabomb" as he disappeared and he returned my surprised look because, as I noticed later, I took was wearing my shirt too. Rawk!
On Sunday evening I was thoroughly bored with Heysteve being a cunt and everyone else's failure to question his inflammatory remarks that must all have been direct quotations of Daily Mail headlines. I went for a wander around amongst the anarchy I was so woefully unprepared for. Kids were pulling down the lights, learning to cheat, learning to hate, learning to fight. Everyone was smashing shit up and throwing bricking into people's faces – rejoicing in pointless suffering. I was simultaneously terrified and intrigued. After walking past a huge bunching of people baiting/singing to some hotdog seller (I later read somewhere on the internet that it was some flash-mob-like event) I returned to my tent where I learned that some cooonts were going around setting fire to people's tents. Sure enough, over the next few hours, we heard lots of sirens and witnesses several piles of flaming canvas and waterproof plastics. I went over to one of the pyres and almost lost all faith in festivals and love when I saw the mindless rioting hooligan dickheads drunkenly picking fights with stewards in a manner oh so very different from the atmosphere of the other days at Reading. Alas.
Anna who used to be my sister's bestest buddy and Jo Nye (my god, she's related to Richie).
However, there was no sign of either Old Hannah Johnson or Rossie or Nick (from the pub)
And I saw the following bands:
Mull Historical Society : Mr. MacIntyre was very ace and included a great crowd-singalong that he claimed would be sampled on some new CD or something. It was much more exciting that I expected although I do adore the first album.
The Datsuns : Perhaps I didn't give them all that much of a chance but, to me, they were nothing exciting.
The Darkness : Although I quite like them now, I got sick and tired of everyone there raving about these guys. They came across as dicks and were wanky and overrated. In a live setting, they are so so very mediorcre.
Placebo : I enjoyed it much more than at Brixton because I was familiar with the new songs and this was one of the few times I bothered getting close to the front of the Main Stage. Still, the lack of Nancy Boy is always a huge disappointment as is not playing even one song from the inimitable eponymous album
Elbow : They were great even though I hadn't heard the much-hyped second LP. Ribcage was hypnotic and I enjoyed it although my feet were in excruciating pain because Guy Garvey behaved like a god and they pumped the speakers up to eleven.
The Polyphonic Spree (screw the marking system because it just ain't enough): After barely surviving Elbow's set I was desperate to go and lie down to give my feet a rest. However, I thought I ought to at least stay for one song given how good The Spree are meant to be live and persuaded Hannah to wait with me. They took fucking ages to come on stage but after about thirty seconds I had completely forgotten about the pain and was jumping up and down. It was fucking immense in every single way. I adored the album but this was seventeen zillion times better – I had no idea a show could ever be this good. We were in the second row and I loved every second: I was unable to stop beaming and soaking in the happiness. Damn it, it was almost as good as the bloody mushrooms.
The Cooper Temple Clause : Rather fucking ace really. I'm sure my rating would go up at least one notch if I'd been well enough to actually get somewhere vaguely close to the stage.
Hundred Reasons : I'm still unconvinced about this band. It took me a while to get into the mp3s I downloaded and I was equally unimpressed with their performance as with their album. Still they may still convince me yet, and I did choose to buy one of their singles from a bargain bin.
Blur : I'm sorry everyone but *yawn*. I never heard Think Tank and couldn't be bothered to make any effort. I adore Blur but I was just too tired to care about much more than singing along to Song 2.
The Applicators : With prejudice based solely on their name, it was unsurprisingly that they sounded like a generic and formulaic sub-Josie and the fucking Pussycats band with songs that anyone could write in five minutes.
Kinesis : Pretty damn exciting seeing as I've still failed to listen to any of their songs outside of the gig environment. I suck at learning lyrics but David and I got into a good place and moshed so fucking hard. Unfortunately, I still didn't know the songs well enough to cream my pants about them. Still, they were much better than at the concorde2, but I suppose they could have done with a more intimate venue because Conor's hott.
Winnebago Deal : Bloody hell. Straight after Kinesis as well. They gave me all I wanted and more. I knew all the songs and it was at the ace Carling Tent. The crowd consisted of a million huge fat tattooed beer-guzzling old Hell's Angels dudes who started the hugest, most incredibly violent mosh circle evar. I very nearly died about nine times but thankfully my shoes stayed on and I survived with only a few bruises. The Bens were gods and even played the winning duh-duh-stop song which pissed all the n00bs off. Still, everyone there loved them and excitedly chatted about how fucking incredible they were afterward.
Hell Is For Heroes : Not bad at all. I quite enjoyed it and would like to see them again in the tiny back room of some pub. I might try to steal a CD from someone...
System Of A Down : Seemed a million miles away and the new album is blaters arse. Don't get me wrong: I love them really, but tens of thousands of people clearly loved them more that night and I was too knackered to fight my way through the crowds.
The Music : It started slow but that wasn't enough to disguise the fact that they're actually a damn good band. I danced with Russell and all was good. The People was fucking ace and the entire crowd loved them. Especially the man who miraculously managed to roll a spliff from hashish in the middle of a six-minute mosh.
After stealing enough tent pegs to replace those that had gone missing, we set off home again more tired than ever. Leaving the campsite with a ton of ten poles on my back, I reflected back on the past weekend. One of the things I was most proud about was my expert control of my bowels that let me get away with only taking one shit the entire five days. I was probably assists by the face I only ate burgers and soup for the whole jaunt.
We queued for hours to buy train tickets and just managed to fit on the train. I got home all smelly and knackered to find that £20 worth shrooms had gone mouldy, no parents were home and that there was no way of getting to Sammie's. I had spent £15 on a taxi and there was now only a week to go until school started again. What's more, Sophie had read the most embarrassing parts my journal (god, there's enough to choose from) before coming to Reading and sent me a long email about it that I hadn't been able to read before leaving. Also: I was fucked off and tired and hungry and after my huge euphoric high of the first night, I'd lost faith in humanity again like a right wanker.
But, in the end, the thing that mattered most to me was seeing those clouds rush by.