November 28, 2008
Pirates on the last tube home; wrecked. ‘Up the Bracket’ playing in my ears, taking me back to the Leadmill and the sticky dancefloor. Crowd-surfing to the bang of the drums and the beat of the bass. Tall and willowy like a hunter in some undiscovered tribe in some unchartered territory very far from here. The only place on earth you could buy a vodka and Vimto or a vodka and Iron Bru for a pound! Largely ignoring the other or pretending to be engrossed in something just beyond them, slightly to one side. The pirates all have matching beards.