inspired by this weeks poem of the week, i have endeavoured to delve into my own blissful days of anarchy. this is an entirely true story. 

 

 

in my nether years, when i lived and loved in london

i knew a man named, simply, ‘scouse’

scouse was a spike island attendee

a real madchester product

although he was, obviously, from liverpool

 

scouse served the food at my university canteen

scouse always had a smile for everyone

scouse was permanently off his box

 

one night my friend and i had been to fabric, the huge nightclub in london

we had queued for hours to see/hear roni size play out his classic album ‘new forms’ in full

it was raining and we were drenched when we got in, but our minds and hearts were full of ecstacy and excitement

we stepped through the doors, dropped our coats and dropped more pills

 

now imagine

 

just imagine our excitement

when who appeared as the first face we saw as we entered the oppressive, dark club but scouse

off his box and grinning like a moron

a day-glo fantasy

we spent the night dancing and drinking copious bottles of waters as he shouted across the club that he had been there

been there man

when this album first dropped in 97

i shouted back that i was 12 when this first came out, which he loved

anyway, i digress

at 6am we got the first train back to bromley, where we lived at the time

stepped through the door, scouse in tow, and proceeded to queue up four hours of the stone roses and happy mondays

pills, thrills and bellyaches indeed

the morning got out of hand and i foolishly attempted to walk to the shops to buy beer

from there, things got hazy

 

i woke, 18 hours later

red hot and surrounded by blue of the deepest  variety

panicked, i felt wet sand between my toes

something plastic and vague by my arm

i kicked out, terrified

and burst into bright sunlight and life in full flow

i turned my eyes to my surroundings and found a small girl, about 6 years old, staring at me

all pigtails and pink pyjamas

 

i had, at some point in between ‘i wanna be adored’ and the 24 hour spar, collapsed into a child’s sandpit

somehow shutting the lid on my prone, drugged body

 

i apologised to the child, and to her mum who was watching cautiously, armed with a stick

left without too much of a fuss and returned home

where i found my friend and scouse

still dancing

still grinning

having not slept for 2 full days

 

when in rome, i thought to myself