I was your average bloke growing up in England when the rave culture hit. The end of the eighties and early nineties, before it all became mainstream, was a great time for some fabulous parties when we really did think we were inventing a new world. Clandestine messaging led to old, empty warehouses where someone had set up a sound system and away the decks went spinning.
Young and old, all walks of life, loving the sound, the vibe and the love. Because we felt the love. No-one was left out as we embraced in every way a culture of joy and harmony as the waves of beats and rhythms washed over us.
The engine of this movement wasn't the music, it was the pills. Ecstasy, MDMA, 'E' - call it what you will - this was the must-have impetus to drive a new approach to partying.
It was a fresh scene so the youth of the day grabbed it. Why spend a lot of money on alcohol which dulled your senses, made you spout nonsense and then left you feeling wrecked in the morning? Why not take a pill, cheaper and more effective, that would wrap you in its love, a feeling you wanted to share, whilst the new energy which coursed through you sent you to the dance floor to rave the night away?
I'm not advocating widespread drug use but, considering how much people drink on a regular basis, I really couldn't see any problem in supplanting one mood altering substance for another. And, boy, did I prefer the new mood.
So I used to go to raves and clubs, bouncing away to the new music, loving it and the feeling. Sometimes I didn't even bother taking a pill, such was the strength of the vibe.
I wasn't mad for it, constantly raving every weekend but when I did, I tried to find great parties and get fully included. One such night I will never forget, and it wasn't the music, the location or the crowd, but not much else other than Zephyr.
That's probably not even her real name but we all used to play roles when out, dressing outlandishly in luminescent clothes and sharing in the energy.
I used to make sure that all was prepared for a night out. A few pills (might want to share with some friends), money to get home and water to keep hydrated. Then the outfit on and we were off.
It was a balmy summer's night when we set out and found a warehouse on the outside of town. I had heard of this through a network of like-minded souls and so I called some chums and off we went.
A tenner on the door and we were in. Cavernous, swooping searchlights, pounding music, writhing bodies, shaking to the sound. This was what we had come for. We were buzzing by the time we got there so launched onto the floor and made silly shapes as we joined in.
The evening was going great and there were some simply solid tracks being dropped by the DJ's. Anthems of early garage with some soaring vocals - you couldn't wish for brighter sounds.
The girls there were dressed in a variety of outfits but the latest craze was bikini tops and either short skirts or shorts. We weren't complaining as there were nubile, young bodies on display, gyrating around us, enjoined by the sensations.
One stood out who was in a group near us. Tall, willowy and blonde, she had on a shiny bikini top and cut off shorts. Long legs met a tight belly, slightly glistening with the proof of her exertions, into a pair of firm, round breasts and delicate collar bones. She had on a luminous headband with two waving balls aloft and was swaying to the sounds. I was captivated.
I caught her eye a few times and smiled. She nodded back but was clearly lost in the music. The numbers were growing at the club and we were all being pressed together. I engineered myself to be next to her and we both writhed to a few tracks, in harmony.
We were being pressed together by the crowd. I didn't mind and the whole culture was about love, right? So I would smile and try to create a connection.
