3 January 2010



At last, after a year of waiting, the annual 'let's scramble anything there is left to scramble' sesh had arrived, in the opulent confines of a very comfy, country hotel. Filled with various leftovers and wrecks from the previous week, nay years partying, all who managed to get there proceeded to get disgustingly drunk, loved up and happy and began to party in the most arms in the air, arms round each other, arms down each others keks sort of way. All formal niceties and social conventions having been swiftly done away with due to the already fragile state of the assembled peeps, it was a swift lets get down to business sort of bash, the business being each other and just how much fun it was possible to have in as many different positions as possible; and there's a lot!Nicky opened proceedings (yes, yet again) with a seamlessly mixed blend of electrifying new imports straight off the plane (well they were last year, 93 I mean), and managing to get a few toes tapping, almost in time. She was still quite quiet and lucid at this point, i.e. she hadn't managed to drink all of her's and Pauls secret beer stash, yet, and Paul made the most of it. However, it must be admitted, by the end of her set, she was swearing more profusely, in a much louder voice, as the secret stash of beers reduced greatly in number (luckily unnoticed by Paul, who remained oblivious to the depleted state of the stash all night). Followed by Tejen who got everyone moving in a workmanlike manner, whatever that is, things hotted up perceptible and the room filled nicely (probably as everyone tried to escape Maurice's awful Big Country's Greatest Hits CD playing in the bar. I kid you not!) It was at this stage that a profusion of smiles started to break out on everyones faces and sweaty embraces started to be exchanged along with even sweatier intimacies. For those who couldn't take the hectic pace of the throbbing, seretonin drenched dancefloor, there were a variety of sumptuous boudoirs to take advantage of, where, you guessed it, smiles broke out, sweatier embraces were exchanged and extremely sweaty intimacies exchanged in the splendour of magnificentfour poster beds. Indeed, so comfortable were some in the prone position the party was over by the time they awoke from their reverie. Parties within a party, within a party.And the night continued in that great big throbbing vein, with love drenched party peeps hugging into the late hours of the next day. Peeps spotted entering into the spirit of things ; M & M, sound mechanics of the Faversham variety, especially Maurice who was looking extremely frazzled by the time morning drew near and he realised that he had to go up to London accompanied by his trusty humper to clear up their mess from New Years eve; Mikee who minus his dancing princess was very quiet and subdued (well until later that is Kate!); the totally mad Dover and Folkestone posse who wore everyone out, again, and they certainly know who they are, no-one from Whitstable, what-so-ever, probably too partied out after the excesses of the New Year to struggle a few miles down the road; Nick D cleaning the toilets (blocked) the next morning wearing fetching pink, shit stained gloves; Sal and Sara, Sal extremely LF factor no.10 it must be said;Stevie Sea diddlin just fine putting Jodie back into a coma as soon as she managed to regain a modicum of consciousness, Pamee Poos and Jon bouncing and stumbling away happily until the early /late hours and Jon amusing everyone later on that morning exhibiting his boy racer tendancies to the amused bewilderment of the assembled peeps, Gazzer in his tarty pink top slinking around and rubbing himself on Ed's fixtures stroke equipment, Sue barely recovered from her smelly swellings that had ruined her Chrimbo celebs tripping about, Oz and his bouncetastic set, Kier and Tom getting deep and dirty just the way we like them, Ed handling everyone with aplomb (oo er) as his mum had slipped over that afternoon and broken her ankle so was unable to help, but Ed performed very well, even cooking those dodgy sound men their steak and chips, Warren and Justine shaking a leg and everyone who could be at all bothered to get up off their arses and make the effort. It was worth it, lets hope the rest ot the year goes as well, and we love you all, forever!

Well, the annual gathering of the Kent Fluffcore was everything we expected and of course a little more (the best ones always are.)Luxurious opulence is a long way from grass covered sites tucked out of sight. Toilet facilities with tiles on the walls, mirrors and, gasp, hot water are a fuck of long way from crouching behind a bush,over a hole with a look of paranoia on the old gish, and a dock leaf in your hand. Plus no gennys to keep full of fuel or marquees to erect. But still plenty of humping gear. Somethings never change.With the four poster room designated the, er, relaxation area and the large dining room the dance arena (not area, arena), the bar served the useful purpose of a bar (as opposed to a chill out zone). A suitable sound track of extremely crap muzak sufficed the suffering suppers but only for as long as it took to get a drink and piss off somewhere else. What where those dodgy sound and light merchants, in cahoots with our management playing at? Still, that's the only complaint and even that isn't complaining too heavily. All we done was take the piss out of it, ad nauseam. Gosh, it was a jolly jape. The F...* word is never mentioned in fucking public now.After a hot meal and a hot something else (s.a.) and a few bevs a leisurely set up was followed by a few more beers and a few more hours relaxation giving praise to Jah before the 'work' began. If you call standing in reception area greeting wave after wave of gorgeously beautiful, smilingly lovely party peeps. Work? Friends all. Ain't that nice.The DiY international jet set junkies, had a pressing engagement in the city of sin where we hear all went well. Including Simon "Who are you?" DK losing his contact lens' and the crew drinking 4 grands worth of the hotels mini bar stock, and not paying. Tut tut. See Deadleg Reese for more details. Expected for the morning set, they couldn't make it to Kent, coz they didn't get back to Blighty till later that same day. Oh well, maybe next year.What can we say of our DJ's that hasn't already been said a 1000 times? (They weren't crap?) How many ways are there of describing a room full of lushed up people dancing and hugging themselves into a europhic crimplene torpor? How do you get 100's of gratuitous drug and fucking references into an article without actually mentioning it? Is there not a different way to say 'from 4am till 10am was fucking superb'? Or 'why did Ed get rat-arsed? The answer to these, and other, questions of moral conduct can be heard whispered in the corners of night clubs and living rooms across the land all through 1995's glorious summer of laugh. Nick no doubt right in the centre of it.