NEAR MIDDAY Darius and Kathy found us.
Then Joseph. Then Sam, rested and unrepentant. We caught up, and I heard they had found Tim, Darius telling the story.
"You know how he's been trying to make Sandra? Well he finally sold her on the idea they could create this big "millennial memory” and that's where they went, the nuttas. They couldn't even wait for the countdown to finish."
“Didn't he have a pill?”
“Yeah. I’m glad it wasn’t my tent, the dirty olds. They're back there now probably still at it. And Tim reckoned on their way there they got interviewed by the six o'clock news!”
We pictured this: pictured all that could go wrong with giving your views to the country whilst rolling for the first time . . . and horny. We laughed loud and long. But Tim came across like a boss, like an electronica warrior of the Shaky Isles, and his and Sandra's was the longest clip they played on the news that night.
Evacuation of the entire site had been considered, but civil defence couldn't figure the protocols for moving thousands of spangled, coming down ravers off the top of a remote, waterlogged hill.
So blissfully ignorant of how close it all came to ending, the hard core were allowed to stay on.
We got our second night on the downs.
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