The arena is a huge buildin ae shimmerin blue glass. The settin sun n the sky ae grey n orange is reflected in the front ae it. A’m lost, takin in the sights n the noise. That beautiful sea ae ravers, full colour spectrum on display. On the right there’s tent arenas, the long bar wans n a few flashin n whirrin shows. There’s different basslines mixin n creatin unofficial remixes in the Braeheed night. It’s the overarchin bass that yi hear, pulsin through the air. The treble is adrift in the surroundins, faded oot by cunts shoutin, lassies screamin, shows burlin, bass bangin n yir racin, drunken thoughts tryin tae unscramble this wonderland ae colour n sound n sex n drugs. Yi turn roon n lose yir pals fur a minute. Yi find yirsel alone amid the thousands, yir pals dain the same a few feet away but obscured n swept away in the tide ae people constantly swellin n swirlin aboot the venue.

It’s a constant flow tae the main arena, the side tents, drinks tent, toilets, water and condom stand, O₂ bar and tae the tat stalls sellin glowsticks n merch. The mass circulates between aw these. It’s an ocean crashin aboot the place. Yi just need tae kick yir legs n swim. Go wae the flow, keep yir heed above the water. Yi see a few familiar faces in the multitude but A’m confusin strangers fur long-lost friends. A just want tae git tae a portaloo fur a slash, git tae the drinks tent, git a couple ae bottles then bounce intae the main arena fur a swimmin lesson. The entrance is somewhere ahead. A’m pushin through, kickin against the current. A git grabbed fae the back. It’s Wee Toffey. He’s pushin me towards the common portaloo. It’s a shed wae a urinal trough. There’s aboot four other guys at it. We squeeze in tae the end.

‘Mate! This place is absolutely fuckin mental!’ A say tae the kid.

‘Thank fuck A came! Wouldnae miss this fuckin madness fur anyhin!’

‘It’s gonnae be some night, youngster! You took any swedgers yit?’

‘Aye, man! A took wan on the bus! Cannae pish worth a fuck!’

The two ae us unfasten the bags fae our boxer buttons n a stick mine in ma back pocket. A watch Toffey stick another wan in his mouth n lift his heed back. ‘Ya daft wee cunt! A fuckin hate takin them like that!’

‘AHHHH FUCK IT!’

We head back oot intae the open expanse ae bodies n pushin n shovin n bumpin n bangin. There’s a beat kickin up fae the nearest tent. We wait five minutes in a queue fur tokens n head tae the drinks tent tae queue again. It’s three fur a tenner. Two blue WKDs n a Coors n away we go. A pull two eckies oot ma pocket, fuck them on ma tongue n tan half ma WKD tae wash them back, double duntin. Twenty minutes n A wid be flyin. Wee Toffey is comin right up noo. He’s git that mad pleasured look on his face, eyes rollin n chewin his jaw, cartoon mode activated. That initial mushroom-cloud bang yi feel as the MDMA takes hold n takes yi higher, yir breathin deepens n it’s got yi. The lightness, manoeuvrability, the anticipation, the power ae suggestion, the bewitchin lassies geein yi glances that penetrate yir very soul. It’s aw ae them takin yi tae another fuckin dimension. Yir wae thousands ae strangers but yi love them aw n yi talk tae everycunt n anycunt n they talk tae you anaw. The tunes floatin oot the dark doors ahead ir castin a spell on me. A’m locked in, magnetised.