When you’re a geriatric retiree such as myself, weekends are much like any other day. I can’t remember the last time I did anything even a little crazy or wild. It was likely back in my rockstar years fuelled by youthful exuberance, or in the 90s, fuelled by a lot of drugs when I travelled to quite a few illegal raves in the UK.
In 1994, believe it or not, the UK government passed a law that banned public performance of music “wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats.” Rave music, in other words. It granted police the power to turn back revellers who were within a 1.6 km radius of any site where it was believed a rave was going on.
You can't exactly advertise a rave once they've been outlawed, so little stickers were posted around the city with a phone number that you’d call to get the location of the party.
It was great craic, but not when you were intercepted by the long arm of the law and had to neck all your Es quick smart, smile widely, and inform said constabulary that far from attending any rave, you’re going to visit John, who lives in the village near the church. I mean, there’s always a church in the village, and there’s always a chap called John. Then off you'd pop on your merry way, doing your utmost to drive in a straight line.
I’ve likely had many weekends that might qualify as the worst, but these days I can remember very little and understand even less. It could have been Saturday, 18 July 1981, when part of a 20,000-strong march to the British Embassy in support of the hunger strikers, I was assaulted by the Gardai after they turned a peaceful demonstration into a riot by first kettling and then baton charging us.
Or was it that weekend we flew to London and ended up in the magistrates court? Or another weekend, again in Heathrow Airport, when we found ourselves surrounded by armed police... My brother was an avid collector of replica guns, and some of them looked a bit too real.
No! It was probably Saturday, 7th August 1993, when a gang of us travelled to Belfast to see Aphex Twin in the Ulster Hall. While the others were all happily high, I was denied any stimulants because I'd had a crazy reaction to magic mushrooms the week before. Have you ever tried to listen to Aphex Twin stone-cold sober? Well, don't! I was traumatised!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Posted in response to 
