IT WAS a relief, frankly, to reach the House Tent a short while later
with its billowy white roof and canary lights and groovy tunes and steaming people smelling of wet wool. The floor the same mud as outside, but there were wood walkways for the lucky and it was dry and warm.
I wormed my way into the centre and set to stay for a time; the ecstasy - pure goofed goodness - unfurling low to high. It fed my sympathy for the truehearted crowd; coordinated my harmony with the fine set DJ Me and Andy Greenman spun.
One tune after another that had the congregation pinned, Black Panthering their hands and stamping their feet and riding the sound into its apogee, into bass and hi-hats and a mad wheeling crash of keys
- well alright - sleek vocals - you squares - thumping bass - we got to get together - and swinging piano - make it better - and we were on - it's time to put up - hungry - or shut up - alive - to make a change somehow - give us that funk - time to move on - that sideways shake of our heads - groove on - give us it ALL - because - because - GOD MADE ME PHUNKY - spotlights on the blaze - yeaaaaah - and oh yeah, fuck yeah! Haha yeah, yeah, yeah!
And the track was ringing and everyone was singing and everyone was reeling and everyone was young and everyone was beautiful and man was good, no, man was great - yeaaaaah - and it was our time, our future, our century, brothers and sisters, and we were going to change the m-o-t-h-e-r-f-u-c-k-i-n-g worrrrrrrrrlllllllllld.
For hours I stayed, kindled. And when next I thought to venture outside the rain had slackened to a drizzle and predawn leeched the dark. I swayed in the brisk nothingness that had come to the downs with its singular wet-before-sun smell.
I was becalmed now, empty and falling. So this was the first day of the twenty-first century I thought. The first of the third millennium. I idly wondered if the world had survived, and didn’t much care the answer.
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