'kay, Tom....
My first time, London, November 1997. Just arrived in town, only knew a few people, feeling lost. Managed to track down my old flatmate from New Zealand, he invites me to a party and asks if I like pills. Well, I knew so little that, while I *guessed* he meant E, I wasn't 100% sure.
Few nights later and I'm at the house party, I'm feeling very self-conscious, trying to find my friend, and I'm clutching a sixpack of beer and wearing conservative street clothes - not everyone else is dressed like a raver, but a lot are.
I find my friend, and we're sitting around on these mattresses they've got on the top floor (it's a three story house above a shop). I take a half, sit and talk, then my friend goes to find his girl and I'm sitting there on my own. He comes back and gives me another half, then leaves again. Comes back again and starts talking to me, asking how I feel, and all of a sudden I start feeling that rush of pleasure and joy, and I'm telling him *all* about it...."are you feeling good about everyone?" he asks "it's called being loved-up". We start walking downstairs to dance, and just as I peak there's a huge crash.
We get into the lounge to see a gaping hole in the floor, and everyone leaping back from it. The carpet and furniture are sagging through the floor in the middle of the room. Total panic. I lose my friend and one of the people who live there is rounding everyone up and throwing them out. I stagger outside, wondering how the hell I'm going to get home from a strange part of town, completely off my head, after all the trains have stopped running. Luckily Pete sees me and drags me back inside.
About 20 of us sit around upstairs. Someone calls the fire brigade who turn up, crack up laughing at us, especially the Irish girl who spends their entire visit trying to get off with one of them. Another member of the household is running around trying to get everyone to hide their drugs in case the police turn up, and briefing us to tell them that there were exactly 49 people in the house because he has some idea that we would be in trouble if there were 50.
We sit around talking, some people turn up "we've just been to the Chemical Brothers! They were great! Let's party!". Us: "yeah. Cool". Them: "Oh".
About 4AM people start crashing out and I somehow end up under the covers with the Irish girl (and about three days later I realise I could have done a lot more with the situation than just lie there rubbing her stomach, but never mind).
And for the next three days I can't stop telling everyone how absolutely fantastic I feel, I make peace with my ex-g/f who I'd been fighting with for months, and it's all good.
Sorry that was so long....
Si