After confirming the fact of a party at the end of the driest, warmest April ever, it did the usual and started to piss down with rain, relentlessly and remorselessly for two weeks. Rain, winds, storms lashing the countryside, making all the ground soggy and wet before our eyes, whilst the temperature at nights plummeted to sub zero. Bleeding typical.
Two days before though the rain stopped and the weather forecast was looking good, if a tad cold. So we were to be having a proper party a good month and a half before our first pretend party last year and a full 3 months before our first proper one. So with no foot and mouth clipping our wings we decided it was time to enter pastures new and get out there. So that’s what we did.
As we were also doing the Smack that night, the crew was split, into lazy, alcoholic fuckers who stayed behind in the pub, supping on free pints like they were parties, and the poor saps who were left to put up the marquee, in the pitch black with just 5 people, 2 of whom were virgins.
Surprisingly it was the easiest erection ever achieved, although we did have the distinctly unvirginal Hugey. So, tent up and decorated easily within the hour. Rig up and connected also in record breaking time, although bodged, as one of our amps (the one that caught fire at Splendid) was still up in London being mended (remade). A lovely clear night if extremely nippy later on, and apparently the last time the planets would be aligned so closely before they start to move apart again, till the next time in 100 years or so.
There was just the matter of a fuck off bastard hill through a farmers track by some lovingly sprayed crops for the peeps to negotiate, if they could navigate the map. Luckily there were already quite a few who managed to get up the hill, before those with low, posh cars started panicking and parking on the not very wide, narrow country lane at the bottom of the hill. Wigs and Nicky went off to ‘sort them out’ and proffer them hill climbing tactics as the amount of cars accumulating on the road were starting to put the dairy on, but I was frightened to tell anyone what to do as I hadn’t had a drink, and when a car load of callow youths refused to do as we politely requested, we made our way back up the hill, pushing all the stuck cars en route.
And then da boys found us in record breaking time, but with just enough people there for them to be seriously worried about creating a public disorder if they moved us on. Hanging around for what seemed like an age, they were convinced that we’d have two thousand people “from London” there within the hour, to which we laughed and said they’d obviously never been to one of our parties before, which Cagey was
Seemingly satisfied that we were posing no danger to anyone but ourselves they left after nervously smoking fags for an hour, looking like they’d rather hang around with us than go back into town and pick the drunks up off the streets, and as they drove away, in the best motor on site, a big cheer went up, as the music got cranked up and the party proper began. In earnest.
Out in force was the Ben posse; Big Kev, Little Steve (in love), Linda, Wiggy, Timo, Red Yellow all shaking well honed legs in the direction of the dance floor. There was also Twiggy, Frances and co in the second best motor on site, taking lots of fab photos, but Twigs not throwing himself off of moving coaches that weren’t actually moving, whilst doing so. Whitstable massive out in force (for a change) included Sara and Jay, Lemony and Steve, all Steves mates in various stages of disrepair, Naughty Nurse, Sandals who’s lost her sandals and one of her shoes, cutting her foot open and needing it stitched back together, Justin and Emily, MDM, Brummie Jon, our internet chum, and millions more people.
Proceedings kicked off with S***dances’ finest warmup S then Friendly Peep riding his little white pony till he fell off, and the saddle was taken up by marathon runner extraordinaire Mr Baines who shared the reins with Timo Tei. They spanked us up into a (well rehearsed) frenzy to be followed by Shaun and then Oz doing what they do, but well. And because it was so bastard freezing everyone had to dance like fuck all night or die, so the dance floor was rammed all night long and most of the morning too. If there had been no marquee, I would personally have frozen to death, along with all those who didn’t have a car or who turned up in tee-shirts with no coats. Theo had his black, cashmere undertakers coat on so he was ok, although the white plaster on his mixing wrist ruined the effect somewhat, but didn’t prevent him showing us a few early ‘80’s disco champ moves.
Steve’s mad mate Toby was a little better behaved than normal, until he started to hit poor unsuspecting chaps having a swift slash with stinging nettles across their todgers. Nice… Andy another of Steve’s mates spent most of the early part looking for his keys, before I told him he’d just do his head in that way, especially as it was pitch black. So he stopped, and once it got light went down to where he’d parked his brand new VW Golf (on the road at the bottom of the hill) and found the keys in the ignition, the interior light on, the radio blaring and the door open. And the car was still there. Thank fuck.
Emily and Clare were sent round to do the collection and it’s amazing how much more money you get sending round two blond lovelies with luscious lumps than a couple of old mingers like Stoney and Cagey. Hugey got tricked by a car full of lovelies into letting us put our fingers in his bag.
The fire stick guy was looking good until his hair caught on fire. Tania, the twisted firestarter, fell down the embankment on her head whilst “looking for wood”, Simone looked tiny, and Roger sweaty. Ria scowled at the lack of public conveniences, , and all her mum and dad’s friendly mates and everything else, and Mark One Eye you still owe us twenty squids from three years ago, but hey it’s a party so we’re still pleased to see you.