A
RAMBLE IN THE COUNTRY
I dunno what it was about last summer, but wasn't it good. Some people tell
me it had something to do with the alignment of the planets. Me, I haven't a
clue. All I know is that it was a dream. Saturday nights I lived. Sundays were
a blur, and Mondays - well, there were Mondays...
I've had too many years of dark, dirty, smelly squat parties - wading through
oceans of human waste, and refusing the attentions of wannabe entrepreneurs
in every doorway and stairwell. Dark warehouses for dark music. I want to look
towards the stars. Having to watch my back, or at least feeling as though I
should. We will be raided tonight, or not, but hey, that's always the way, isn't
it.
Here comes Mr Plod in his size 10 Doc Martens, his high visibility jacket, a
tit on his head; the keeper of the Queen's peace, the guardian all decent values,
the brave upholder of the law. Steadfastly unwilling or unable to understand.
Thank goodness for hippies, pixies, and bright shiny people.
