Universe was full of casualties but it was a weird one. Messy. The pills were weird and whatever snowballs consisted of wasn’t mdma. Loads of Pete Tong listeners in an ultra mainstream house hellhole all freaking out. Remember looking on at these Doris’s losing it? Kenny Ken on the bill? No idea. Hardcore tent people on 4-5 china whites in all sorts of shapes climbing the walls, heavy heavy casualty list. Spring 93 was last period with any good doves and if you recall a promise fell through so all of our lot ended up wrecked either jaw shivering unable to speak or lying down outside those sweat collecting tents, rarely been as battered. Stayed up all afternoon, your older sister drove and found the Hereford venue the gaff with the stately home. Bouncy dance floor. Shit rig, too many e’s, all hardcore not that the first round were anything like what you might remember doves being like but we swapped a batch with tttttttttt’s mate, proper electric love magic. Venue was oversold, all Universe zoo there, /long list of casualties/ into rapture. Got back to Bromley, how anyone is still alive after snorting unknown mixes of powders easing into bank holiday traffic is absurd. Good times for a pay party, might have been the last for you, you snob. It was chaos, china whites and snowballs would be an interesting lab test and it shows in the music if you listen to Weatherall on Kiss…a transitional year. It got more even more clubby and even more dark with competition for selling leading to more violence, stabbings, xxxx and xxx got done over bad at %%%% if you remember buying bags of brown for comedowns, beginning of the end for a few people starkly.
