I can remember travelling up to Loughborough nighters from the South in the mid 80’s aged 19 or so and not taking anything. Didn’t occur to us and wouldn’t have known who to ask. Would stay to the end and drive home. Bloody dangerous in hindsight!
Getting in to my twenties and getting into gear, wraps & baggy’s. Would always make me gag and retch for the first hour or so and I’d be a bit of a social misfit concerned that if anyone engaged me in conversation they’d wonder what the bloody hell was wrong with me. Or worse still I’d barf on their shoulder! Worst fear was my muteness being mistaken for rudeness. After 4 pints of Stella though I’d calm down and have the fluidity to dance, chat and be normal.
Just the torment of feeling ‘a bit handy’ when you got home on what someone once described as ‘porn Sunday’.
Still being awake at 10 pm on the Sunday was a bit of a nause though and seeing REM bats out of the corner of your eye. What did someone above say? Room full of spiders? Or as someone on this fine site once said ‘squirrels on motorbikes’.
Praise be to an ex scene girlfriend for the discovery of Sominex and the chance to get some sleep.
Any way you slice it, a grizzly drug and ‘suicide Tuesday’ at work as Stevie once called it, weren’t any kind of fun, but for those 4 or 5 spiritual hours out on the floor + bollox chats, was all worth it and I’d do it all again. Halcyon times.