Trib­al Gathering

August, 1996: Court cases, conflict and controversy made this year’s Tribal Gathering the cause célèbre of British dance culture.

To cel­e­brate the long-await­ed return of The Face, we have select­ed a stand-out sto­ry from each year of our exten­sive archive, from 1980 to 2004.

Remembered by photographer Elaine Constantine

It was my first cov­er sto­ry, and it was in two bits: the stu­dio stuff of the girl cov­ered in mud, which intro’d the big­ger sto­ry inside, the cov­er­ing of the Trib­al Gath­er­ing fes­ti­val. I can remem­ber the excite­ment of going: Right, we’re gonna do a Face cov­er, this is a huge respon­si­bil­i­ty, and we’ve got to real­ly plan it well.’ I’d been work­ing with [styl­ist] Pol­ly Banks for a while, and we’d kind of cre­at­ed a look. She came along to Trib­al Gath­er­ing with me and did inter­views with peo­ple that I’d got impromp­tu pho­to ses­sions with, then that all went towards the whole thing. The cast­ing for the cov­er meant find­ing some­one who was not just going to agree to be naked and cov­ered in mud, but who would throw her­self into it. And we got a girl who was absolute­ly amaz­ing, couldn’t get enough mud on her and couldn’t roll around in it enough. It was about find­ing the authen­tic. What The Face did that oth­er mag­a­zines didn’t was, when they rep­re­sent­ed some­thing, they made sure to go to the heart of it. It was that, rather than doing a hor­ri­ble this is what’s cool right now’ media ver­sion. It wasn’t patro­n­is­ing. Because I came from a back­ground of social doc­u­men­tary, that was always my stand­point, too. That cov­er put me on a new lev­el. Once The Face had giv­en you their approval you didn’t need any more of a stamp. Every sin­gle pho­tog­ra­ph­er in the world who aspired to do cool pho­tog­ra­phy want­ed to work for The Face. No argument.” 

Elaine Constantine’s colour­ful por­tray­als of British youth cul­ture saw her shoot reg­u­lar­ly for The Face, French, Ital­ian and US Vogue, Vivi­enne West­wood, Diesel and Burber­ry. Her fea­ture film North­ern Soul (2015) was nom­i­nat­ed for BAFTA’s Out­stand­ing Debut Award. She has exhib­it­ed at the V&A, Tate Britain and the Nation­al Por­trait Gallery.

Court cas­es, con­flict and con­tro­ver­sy made this year’s Trib­al Gath­er­ing the cause célèbre of British dance cul­ture. In the end, the most antic­i­pat­ed event of 1996 hap­pened in June – and for one night, 30,000 peo­ple came togeth­er to define the shape of all tomorrow’s par­ties. This is how…

Is Trib­al Gath­er­ing the end of the under­ground or the next step for­ward, asks Miran­da Sawyer.

At 4am the nor­mal world seemed very very far away. Far away from the mad lad in the big E T-shirt, wav­ing his neon wands to the tune of the fair­ground bumper cars; from the post-Left­field­ers, stum­bling out of the Star­ship Uni­verse tent to lie flat out beneath an almost-full moon; from the bungey nut­ters, rub­ber-balling between heav­en and earth; from the dancers, the chancers, the chem­i­cal­ly enhanced; miles and miles away from all of us. It was out there, some­where, but far beyond our ken. And as for Ravey Dav­ey, wav­ing at the future with his £5-a-pair lumi­nous white gloves… he was on a plan­et of his own design.

Yet, 12 hours lat­er, tucked in under the nor­mal world’s every­day duvet, it was like noth­ing had ever hap­pened. We wait­ed so long for Trib­al Gath­er­ing 96 and then it came and went in the blink of a wide-awake eye. Now it feels as though you could nev­er find your way back; and if you did, there’d be no evi­dence remain­ing, not a crushed beer cup or ripped Rizla to prove that, yes, there were 30,000 of us and, yes, we had the time of our lives.

The Sun­day papers, even the Mon­day ones, despite their recent­ly acquired house-hap­py atti­tudes, gave no more than a hands-in-the-air pic­ture and a few lines of review. These last were mut­ed, rather dis­ap­point­ed. They bemoaned the Gath­er­ers’ good man­ners and queu­ing abil­i­ty, clear­ly won­der­ing why they weren’t stick­ing knives into one anoth­er or dying from over­dos­es or rob­bing or riot­ing or at least show­ing the cam­era their lib­er­at­ed, pho­to­genic chests. The E-gen­er­a­tion,” sniffed the Guardian, are polite, sub­ur­ban and luvved-up”: and then went on to review the live acts as though they were per­form­ing in the Asto­ria. The ver­dict? These DJ types have no stage pres­ence. Duh.

Per­haps you can’t blame the papers for feel­ing let down. With­out Glas­ton­bury as the car­toon-fest du fes­ti­vals, with­out the back­stage star hob­nob­bage, the beardies, the weirdies, the deal­ers, the didgeri­doo­ings, the media is stuck for a big Sum­mer youth sto­ry. So it runs between The Who and Luton Hoo, com­par­ing cor­po-rock with get-down-on-it get-on-with-it dance cul­ture, search­ing for the angle, spoil­ing for a fight; hop­ing that some­one will cry, or at least try to fly, before they get cold. When no one does, they damn youth cul­ture as bor­ing. But they’ve missed the point.

Trib­al Gath­er­ing, despite its bon­go-both­er­ing name, was nev­er search­ing for astral sig­nif­i­cance. It didn’t have to smear itself in woad and stick bells to its toes and slop lentil offer­ings around in order to give itself a sense of pur­pose. And it didn’t want to call any­one to rev­o­lu­tion, or to vote Labour, or to be a Tomor­row Per­son, or to stut­ter stuff about the gen­er­a­tion gap. In an era when even Noel Gal­lagher uses stage-time to tell you to sup­port Tony Blair, this is rare and, frankly, restful.

What else didn’t Trib­al Gath­er­ing do? It didn’t have come­di­ans; it didn’t do mas­sage; it didn’t make a spe­cial fea­ture film to show dur­ing per­for­mance; it didn’t refuse to move on when every­thing shut down; it didn’t even com­plain when it couldn’t get out of the car park. All that hap­pened was that every­one turned up except Under­world and the poet­ry tent; every­one got mashed and hap­py and danced till dawn; every­one went home.

And in a way, that was just as much of an achieve­ment as a twat­ted Take That­ter gate­crash­ing Glas­ton­bury. There were plen­ty of obsta­cles for the Gath­er­ing to nego­ti­ate: not least the can­cel­la­tion, a week before its sched­uled May kick-off, of the licence for the fes­ti­val to be held in Oxford. Traf­fic prob­lems, appar­ent­ly: though no one wor­ried about Cen­tral Lon­don being held up by 150,000 Hyde Park road-ragers.

Accord­ing to Paul Shurey, Uni­verse head hon­cho and man behind the Tribe, the only rea­son why TG 96 went ahead was luck. Anoth­er organ­i­sa­tion had already applied for a licence on the Luton site, but they hadn’t man­aged to get it togeth­er,” he explains. They hadn’t any track record of hold­ing big events but they’d still man­aged to get a licence – so we went in on the back of that. It was a one-in-a-mil­lion chance.” 

Nev­er mind one-in-a-mil­lion: the odds were incal­cu­la­ble that the par­ty-goers were going to make it, let alone all the acts and DJs. Yet just a hand­ful of tick­ets were returned, and only Under­world, of the head­lin­ers, couldn’t alter their com­mit­ments. Left­field played the Roskilde fes­ti­val in Bel­gium, then hopped on a plane to Lon­don to strut their stuff hours lat­er in Luton. Every­one made the effort. As DJ Rap was lat­er to pro­nounce: Well, you’re a sad fuck­er if you miss it, aren’t ya?”

It’s more than that. If you miss it, it’s not only you that’s sad – every­one else is too. Not lit­er­al­ly, not bro­ken-heart­ed but, as Dr Cliché’ says, the dif­fer­ence between a rock event and a dance one is that the for­mer is all about the stars; the lat­ter, the audi­ence. If you, the tick­et hold­er, don’t turn up, it’s everyone’s loss. 

You could see this when Black Grape played. At a rock gig or fes­ti­val, the point is to see the band: push to the front and sweat it out with the big mosh boys or you’re a part-timer. At Trib­al Gath­er­ing, peo­ple were danc­ing out­side the tent and hav­ing a top time. What mat­tered was not how close you were to Kermit’s toes, but who was around you and how good you all felt when Shaun got his mel­ons twist­ed round Pret­ty Vacant.

So was Trib­al Gath­er­ing a fes­ti­val, or just a one-night Brown­ie camp for DJ wor­ship­pers? Over the last few years, fes­ti­val cul­ture has warped out of all recog­ni­tion. Neil Old Man” Barnes from Left­field can pro­vide a pot­ted his­to­ry of sorts. 

Well, I used to go to Brack­nell Jazz Fes­ti­val and Wom­ad,” he recalls mist­i­ly. Just because of the diver­si­ty of music you’d get there. But com­ing from a punk back­ground, fes­ti­vals went out of favour for a long time. You know, Glas­ton­bury was seen as just a hip­py thing. It’s changed now, of course.”

Of course. The homogeni­sa­tion of gui­tar music has meant that bands like Oasis, Ash, Skunk Anan­sie, The Man­ics, Radio­head, plus solo acts like Ala­nis Moris­sette, are strad­dling the music/­gen­er­a­tion/­den­im-wear gaps that have gaped between indie and rock for years (proof? Oasis choos­ing to play at Kneb­worth, for Jovi’s sake). These days, alter­na­tive” bands see main­stream as some­thing to be proud of, and fes­ti­vals are big busi­ness. Frankly, where there’s muck, there’s buck­ets of brass. With Oasis rumoured to be insist­ing on the instal­la­tion of dozens of tem­po­rary cash machines at Loch Lomond so the pun­ters have enough notes to spend on mer­chan­dis­ing, the only dif­fer­ence between their gig and The Who’s Mas­ter­card mon­ey-spin­ner is the age of the scoot­ers they arrive on. 

This isn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly a bad thing, just a thing. Music has always been a busi­ness. And these days, at least every­one likes music and wants to go to fes­ti­vals – and everyone’s wel­come. Even Chan­nel 4. Even Radio 1. Even (moth­er!) John­ny Rotten. 

But against this mon­ey-machine back­drop, the dance scene seems inno­cent, inven­tive, diverse, to die for. It’s main­stream all right – look at The Prodi­gy, Orbital, Mas­sive Attack; Oakey, Sasha, Carl Cox; Tricky, Por­tishead, Björk – but on most lev­els it’s more inde­pen­dent, more cre­ative, less crass, less in-yer-face-up-yer-nose than its gui­tar-wield­ing load­sa­money contemporaries.

Wor­ries that the reports about Trib­al Gathering’s licens­ing prob­lems would lead to too much pub­lic­i­ty and, hor­rors, over-com­mer­cial­i­sa­tion were com­plete­ly unfound­ed. And we’re still a way off from a full-blown three-day dance music fes­ti­val. Though Paul Shurey has named this as his express inten­tion – a long week­end of out­door sounds, with per­haps one tee­ny stage for alter­na­tive rock, side­lined in the way the dance stage always is at main­stream fes­ti­vals – police and pub­lic atti­tudes sug­gest that this is still some time away. 

Trib­al Gath­er­ing, when it comes down to it, didn’t real­ly feel like a fes­ti­val for a cou­ple of rea­sons. One: every­thing was under can­vas, so there was noth­ing that could cap­ture the heav­en-soar­ing, all-unit­ing sen­sa­tion of a Glas­ton­bury Orbital 94 or Prodi­gy 95. Two: it was only one night. You need at least two days for that true fes­ti­val sen­sa­tion, at least 48 hours to get real­ly down and dirty, to lose the plot and nev­er think of look­ing for it, to live a life­time in a night-time, to come home and not recog­nise the door to your room. 

You didn’t traipse for miles to find the only sound sys­tem was pow­ered by bicycle.”

But what it did feel was good. Mid­night came and you didn’t have to search for a par­ty. You weren’t turfed into a sep­a­rate field to trip over tents and choke on the smoke from stu­dents burn­ing plas­tic bags. You didn’t traipse for miles to find the only sound sys­tem was pow­ered by bicy­cle. You weren’t harassed by deal­ers, wor­ried by drug vir­gins, mithered by chip­py crusties, forced to endure bag­pipes at five in the morning.

What Trib­al Gath­er­ing was about, pure and sim­ple, was plea­sure. If we’ve learned any­thing in the eight years since house music turned us round, it’s that danc­ing till tomor­row with a gen­er­a­tion of strangers is just a real­ly fan­tas­tic laugh. We’re well aware that it’s not a polit­i­cal act: at least not in a way that gets trans­formed into votes or direct action. We’ve got no time for the pseu­do acces­sories: crys­tals and hair-wrap­ping are about as intel­li­gent as try­ing to fly by astral plane. And we know that drugs won’t change the world. Of course every­one was out of it: it’s just that they weren’t mak­ing a fuss about it, or telling you about how charged they were. OK, some did.

No one who stayed up all night on June 29 thought that it was going to change their life. It was just part of their life. Thanks to its size and pro­file, Trib­al Gath­er­ing pro­vid­ed an unprece­dent­ed demon­stra­tion that what would have once been strange, under­ground and excep­tion­al events were now just sin­gle nights in heav­en, enjoyed not by mar­gin­alised demi­mon­ders but by a mass of well-bal­anced every­day peo­ple who believe that hav­ing fun is as impor­tant as hav­ing a baby, or a job, or friends, or your health. It’s this that con­founds the media, brought up as it is on hip­pies and punks and show-offs and big mouths. Not every­one who stays up all night has an agen­da. Or a stu­pid wardrobe. Or a prob­lem with self-esteem. No won­der the review­ers were con­fused. An event that’s about the peo­ple there but the peo­ple don’t even dress fun­ny? Like the man says, it’s not rock’n’roll.

What Trib­al Gath­er­ing did was to move pop­u­lar cul­ture on, qui­et­ly but sig­nif­i­cant­ly, bring­ing togeth­er remark­ably diverse strands of dance music, and thus entire­ly dif­fer­ent sets of peo­ple, in a way that would have seemed unthink­able even two years ago. Who’d have thought that jun­gle could sit so nice­ly next to hap­py house? That The Chem­i­cal Broth­ers could shake of their indie boots so suc­cess­ful­ly? That strangers could hug each oth­er and not think they’re gov­ern­ment-top­pling? No more, no less. In the end it’s turned out that 30,000 peo­ple stand­ing in a field is an excel­lent way to feel for the future.

James Lavelle


(Fired up after his set in the Plan­et Phunk tent) 

How are you feel­ing? My feel­ing is day­light mad­ness. If you want to know, that is my feel­ing at this pre­cise moment in time.

You played a very hard set for a Mo’ Wax boss. I want­ed to keep every­body up today. We had a good sound sys­tem and a lot of peo­ple so I want­ed to fuck around. I enjoyed it a lot actu­al­ly. I was pleas­ant­ly sur­prised. I thought it might be just anoth­er one of those chill-out dodgy back rooms with a real­ly bad sound sys­tem, but it was hitting.

It’s rare for you to play at a fes­ti­val isn’t it? This isn’t a fes­ti­val, it’s more like a rave. I want­ed to do it last year but I couldn’t because I was in Japan. I was real­ly pleased to do it. I real­ly like the peo­ple who set it up. They were real­ly good to work with. I’ll come again if I’m asked back. Definitely.

Shaun Ryder


(Chill­ing in his trail­er van) 

We came here straight from Copen­hagen and we’re going to Ire­land tomor­row. I make a hun­dred new friends a night doing this. Do you like Kermit’s kilt? We watched the foot­ball at the BBC wear­ing kilts – the din­ner ladies loved it. Am I gonna be on the cover?



(In his tour van, hyped after his set)

What’s your reac­tion to peo­ple who say you’ve gone commercial? 

You’re always going to have the dogs bark­ing at your heels to do what­ev­er, but what hap­pens is peo­ple become Coro­na bub­bles. They go to the sur­face and they can’t get back down again. Smith and Mighty made it good for me. So did Shades Of Rhythm make it good for me. They were doing it. Grooverid­er and Fabio were play­ing 15 years ago. We’ve stuck to our guns about what this music is about and we’re now final­ly real­is­ing that you can go plat­inum but also have integrity.

We’ve heard you’re doing a film project. 

It’s based around an eight-year-old kid and over a cer­tain amount of time he becomes Father Time. This kid’s in a seri­ous acci­dent and while he’s in hos­pi­tal it all gets freaky from there. It’s real­ly about the inte­gra­tion of the UK from smack­ers down fuck­ing King’s Cross to the old fuck­ing geezer doing locks in wher­ev­er. Trainspot­ting is a remark­able film, right, and now it’s time for that ver­sion to come from this angle: sound­track, fuck­ing under­ground inte­ri­or! Peo­ple on the fuck­ing under­ground will play very strong cameo roles.

What’s next for Goldie? 

The next album Sounds Return is anoth­er dou­ble album. There’s going to be a 64-bar loop track that’s just going to run. At the end of the day you throw the ball as far as you can because you know you can run and pick it up. I’m going through my own sounds return – I’m 30 and if you only knew me from an astro­log­i­cal per­spec­tive, mine is a heavy one because it’s all in line at the moment. I’m Vir­go. 1965.

So there are a few sur­pris­es to come… 

You have to do your home­work and realise that when you get on a train there’s fuck­ing five car­riages before you. We all put our rollers on at Rage and then get up the next morn­ing and lis­ten to fla­men­co from Spain. I’m a win­dow that’s reflect­ing and I can deal with that. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for that but I still go out and hear new cuts and plates.

The Chem­i­cal Brothers


(Tom and Ed check­ing equip­ment for their live set)

What have you got planned for tonight?

Tom: (Big sigh and gri­mace as though it’s over­step­ping the mark to ask) I don’t know. We’re going to find out, but the thing is we’ve just done loads of new stuff. We’ve record­ed bits of our next album and this is quite a good way to find out if peo­ple like it or not… It could also be quite a bad way (laughs).

What’s the new stuff like? 

Tom: We think it’s quite a lot dif­fer­ent, but I’m sure oth­er peo­ple will go: Oh well, same old shit”.

Are you going to change your name again to be consistent? 

Ed: Yeah. Maybe. I don’t want to be in a band called The Chem­i­cal Broth­ers when we’re 30. That is if we’re still doing it togeth­er by then – we’ll have to see. We’re total­ly drug-free because there were huge warn­ing notices all over the stuff sent out say­ing: Don’t bring drugs on to the site. Police are search­ing the vans and bus­es.” So we didn’t. I’m in a drug-free van now. The Chem­i­cal­less Brothers

LTJ Bukem


(Chill­ing in his Vaux­hall) How did you find Plan­et Phunk? 

My hands got real­ly cold because of the wind. It was far cold­er than last year.

What do you like best about big events like this then? 

It all began with these things, from 89-’90, that’s all it was. I used to do four or five a night. I was in Den­mark last night for a fes­ti­val for 90,000 peo­ple – the biggest fes­ti­val in the world! And tonight we’re going up to play the drum and bass room at Cream in Liverpool.

What’s the most impor­tant thing to bring to Trib­al Gathering? 

Fuck knows. Good direc­tions, yeah. That’s the best thing. Also, I’ve got this pil­low in the car and I’ll sleep on the way up to Liverpool.

What about a change of specs? 

(Laughs) I haven’t got that many, have I?

Every time your picture’s tak­en, you’ve got a dif­fer­ent set of specs. 

I’ve just got to wear them all the time so… I’ve got about sev­en or eight, actu­al­ly. But I just treat them like under­wear. You’ve got to wear pants every day; I’ve got to wear glass­es every day. I don’t want to always wear the same pair so I change them.

Dusk til Dawn

Pick­ing up the pieces. The Trib­al diary of Helen Ben­son, aged 26¼

12.10 SCRATCH­WOOD SER­VICE STA­TION, M1, BETWEEN LON­DON AND LUTON Well, these things always seem to begin and end in a ser­vice sta­tion. As I climb out of the van my friends and I have hired, I notice that we are being regard­ed with some curios­i­ty by a coach-load of old peo­ple from Kent whose idea of a good time is pos­si­bly some­what dif­fer­ent to ours. Buy Volvic and chew­ing-gum. Climb back into van. Or should that be space ship, ho ho.

12.50 THE A1081, NEAR LUTON Notic­ing how attrac­tive the coun­try­side is, I remem­ber a Thomas Hardy poem we did at school. It was about peo­ple danc­ing in fields all night, and going home at dawn. Reflect that what­ev­er you think of all the non­sense talked about raves, danc­ing in fields is prob­a­bly a very basic instinct. Or bass-ic instinct. Ho ho again.

14.50 THE GATE Have a lit­tle group chat about the exten­sive­ness of the search­es, which have been con­sid­er­able. Share par­tic­u­lar lack of enthu­si­asm for the fin­ger round the waist­band” tactic.

15.15 THE BAR Order drinks, and make Lager lager lager” jokes to each oth­er. As, no doubt, approx­i­mate­ly 10,000 peo­ple will today.

16.50 LTJ BUKEM, PLAN­ET PHUNK Packed and bril­liant. A bit of a shame to hear Con­rad – the best MC there by a long way – first, since the mem­o­ry of him will serve as a reminder of how bad the bad ones are. Let your mind explode,” he keeps say­ing, over records that make it seem plausible.

17.25 STILL THERE The tent gets very packed, and I won­der for the first but not the last time if I have a tat­too on my fore­head which reads: Look­ing for a way through the crowd? Why not just try to knock me over?”

19.20 JON CARTER, PLAN­ET PHUNK I am danc­ing with my friends when one of them notices a pool of sun­shine appear­ing out­side the tent. We go out­side to dance and the sun comes from behind a cloud and there’s this oth­er group of peo­ple danc­ing and we dance with them, laugh­ing, and I’m sor­ry to sound like a sen­ti­men­tal old cow but I have a love­ly, non-stim­u­lant-induced moment of just feel­ing very hap­py. It’s a shame there’s not much more you can say about moments like that. If there was you could explain bet­ter why this whole thing means some­thing. Jon Carter plays one of the best sets I hear all night.

22.00 BT AND SASHA, EROT­I­CA Wait­ing for Sasha, I catch the end of BT’s set. Some­one next to me says it stands for bloody terrible”.

22.50 NOWHERE IN PAR­TIC­U­LAR Lose half of our par­ty. The fall of dark­ness brings a new, excit­ing atmos­phere to the site.

23.40 BLACK GRAPE, STAR­SHIP UNI­VERSE It starts with Black Grape slight­ly the worse for wear and unable to locate a groove, and ends with old hip­py thug Shaun Ryder urg­ing every­one to kiss each oth­er. Which sums the whole day up, really.

00.30 OUT­SIDE NEXUS Con­tem­plate the jum­bo jets pass­ing over­head on their way to land at Luton air­port. They’re low enough to let pas­sen­gers see the site, so con­ceiv­ably this could be someone’s first glimpse of life in Britain. If they heard BT they’ll prob­a­bly catch the next plane back. Joke.

01:45 THE CHEM­I­CAL BROTH­ERS, STAR­SHIP UNI­VERSE Some­one once said that try­ing to write about music is like try­ing to dance about archi­tec­ture. If this is true, I point you towards the vig­or­ous jig I per­formed in hon­our of the tow­er­ing edi­fice that was The Chem­i­cal Broth­ers that night. Just brilliant.

03.30 THE BAR Meet lost friends. Greet each oth­er as if we have been sep­a­rat­ed for the last two years.

04.30 TRIB­AL TEM­PLE What hap­pened to the last hour? Why do some parts of the night go so quick­ly and oth­ers so slow­ly? Head off to seek the answer from the last bit of Left­field, who are great.

05:30 THE OPEN AIR Step­ping out of the tent in which Lau­rent Gar­nier has been play­ing his excel­lent end-of-night set, I am slapped in the face by day­light. There should be a word for the feel­ing you get on emerg­ing from a dark­ened club into the wan morn­ing sun­light. A word oth­er than shagged”, anyway.

09.00 HOME Two hours lat­er I wake up as the van shud­ders to a stop out­side my house. I have anoth­er one of those fes­ti­val feel­ings, this time the one where you don’t know what – the week­end or your nor­mal life – is the real thing and what feels unre­al. I go in and put an Under­world record on and think about Thomas Hardy. Like I said, sor­ry for being a sen­ti­men­tal old cow.

Lost week­end: 10 things you did at Trib­al Gathering

  1. Lost all your mates in the Erot­i­ca tent…
  2. …and bumped into them hours lat­er just as Left­field dropped Not For­got­ten. Told them it was fate. Kissed them 
  3. Found your­self drink­ing Hooch because it seemed a refresh­ing and healthy alter­na­tive after eight pints of beer 
  4. Gave two ravers from Bel­gium your num­ber and invit­ed them to stay for a week in September 
  5. Danced to hand­bag at the fair­ground despite insist­ing that all you’re real­ly into is intel­li­gent techno 
  6. Kept hear­ing Born Slip­py and wished Under­world were playing 
  7. Got searched. Remem­ber when Mr Fin­gers used to make records? Now he’s on the gate 
  8. Almost fell asleep wait­ing for DJs to stop build­ing” their set and start play­ing some tunes 
  9. Got so into build­ing a log fire out­side the Astral Nuts tent that you missed Lau­rent Garnier 
  10. Won­dered if you’d ever find your blue car among all the oth­er blue cars. Won­dered how many days it would take to make it out the car park

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