Well... someone was having a good time.
I've not been to a nightclub for ages, so this is a story about me going hillwalking instead.

It was a lovely crisp, frosty and sunny Sunday morning in November. I decided that a day in the High Peak was in order, so threw my stuff into the car and set off. A little later, I'd found a carpark, and began to formulate a route.

THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!

A blue Ford pulled up, its stereo loud enough to deflect asteroids. The occupants got out. A couple of them lit cigarettes. One had a pee by the wheel.

And a third... well, a third started dancing. Well: I think he was dancing. He certainly thought he was dancing. To be honest, he looked a bit like an eccied-up Mr Tickle.

A couple of minutes passed - to my shame, I didn't want to leave my car alone in the middle of nowhere with these people. Mr Tickle kept on dancing. I made eye contact with one of the smokers as he stubbed out his cigarette. We did that slight nod of acknowledgement; the clubbers got back into the car and I set off.

As they drove away, I could, for some time, hear their four-wheeled mini-rave heading deeper into Derbyshire...

THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 12:09, Reply)