* * *
Walking faster we finally reached the sound, dirty hardcore blasting out with a repetitive thud.
A hundred or so people danced in a tight semi-circle, around a small concrete shelter that had been packed full with DJ equipment. Paul was sat in an old deck chair in front of the speakers, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a white t-shirt with an acid smiley on it. A lighting gantry above him spewed out colour in time to the pounding bass.
“Oi oi! Who’s here to fucking have it?!” he shouted into the microphone in his hand, his neck craning his trademark contorted face into the black fuzz. “I’m burning up a fireball, so all the crew go mental, Pill Man is inside lose your mind it’s essential! Brainstorm, I’m declaring fucking mindwar, rinse out Dj Chemikals bang that mother-fucking hardcore! I’m dropping death sounds, straight from the underground, slamming old skool breaks to make you nutters jump around! Just for you we bring the hardcore through, put your hands in the air, for the beach party crew!”
The crowd let out a massive cheer.
“Where the fuck have you lot been? Don’t you know there’s a fucking party here?!” he shouted at us as we got closer.
It looked perfect, everybody jumping around expressing their love for the music. I wanted more than anything to join in but my body wasn’t having it. I was hammered, too many pints had left me with feet that weighed a ton.
“I’m going for a piss. I’ll meet you all back here in two minutes!” I shouted as I ran off up the grass verge that skirts the coast.
There was a wooden bench at the top of the greensward, positioned in a nice place with a view out over the sea. A small plaque on the bench bore the name of a dead married couple; I silently apologised to them for what I was about to do.
Digging around in my pocket I found a little bit of weed, a half empty box of Benson and Hedges, and my last one of those green pills. I lit up another fag, that would be a start.
I knew a spliff was never going to help wake me up, and I’d already taken one pill and it wasn’t doing enough, probably down to the alcohol in my stomach counteracting the MDMA.
It was time to try something new.
I pulled the tablet from its plastic bag and held it up in the moonlight where it glowed green, with speckled bits that shined metallic. Then I sat it on the spare seat beside me on the bench, pulled out my bank card, put it on top and crushed it down with my palm; pushing hard while I rotated it back and forth.
Eventually when it felt like it had all but disappeared, I lifted the card up and looked underneath. The powder of the pill lay flat before me, thin lines of it sunk into the grain of the wooden slats of the bench and a little filling in the reverse of the numbers embossed on my bank card. I licked my finger and ran it over the numbers before rubbing it into my gums. It tasted disgusting. Using the card I formed the powder into one long thick line of ecstasy, then took a twenty pound note from my wallet and rolled it into a tube just thin enough to fit in my nostril.
Church Group Page 30
