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I’ve had the best night of my life. The night in question was over fifteen years ago, and it has never been topped. The amazing thing is that it didn’t take me all those years to figure it out – I knew at the time that this was as good as it was ever going to get, that I was at the very fucking pinnacle of good times.
Since that night I’ve been all over the world, I’ve had wild and crazy nights – penthouse and pavement, taken almost every drug going, and drunk everything in sight. I don’t mean to brag, but I’d hate you to think that I escaped from the asylum for one night before they put me back in a straitjacket.
Whenever I mention this story, friends often ask me if it makes me sad to know that I will never have a night as good as that again. The answer is always the same, I would not have missed it for the world.
Of course, early nineties, Britain, middle-aged man at the story tiller, and the subject has to be drugs and dancing. Of course it does.
Helter Skelter at Milwaukees was the venue for this particular night. Me, my girlfriend and three others drove to Bedford for a standard night of raving. However, we had no idea that it was to turn out to be the perfect prescription. We’d been to Milwaukees before and had a fantastic time; situated in the middle of nowhere, outside Bedford, it didn’t look like a memorable place from the outside.
This particular night, we got inside around ten thirty, already quite high. The place was packed, the music was the usual for the day – you know the score! The line up of DJs comprised many of our favourites, and they all played spectacular sets, and the crowd that night seemed to be on one euphoric ecstasy trip. We’d done our share of raving and ecstasy by 1992, and had had some blinding nights, but this night everything came together perfectly: my girlfriend and I were in a particularly good phase, my best dancing friends were present, and several faces we knew from other clubs kept popping up too. Needless to say we packed ourselves right full of some of the finest pills we’d had in ages and danced until dawn.
In the car park afterwards, six am in February, everyone steaming and still bobbing to various beats coming from cars; joints were smoked, and everyone was smiling, laughing, hugging each other and shaking hands We hung around saying goodbye to people – the usual, “You have a good one?” “Wicked mate!” “See you next time.” Then we piled into the car and drove home, quite literally, in ecstasy.
Very few people could tell you, off the top of their head, where they were on February 28th, 1992. I can. I was having the best night of my life. And I knew it.
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