I met my friend Sian in Wales last week, when she turned up at a dinner party with three bottles of wine, two packets of Regal, and no son.
"Where is he?" I asked, helping myself to a smoke even though I don't anymore. Smoking fags in Dolwyddelan is like eating lard when you're drunk — it just doesn't count.
"He's gone to Euphoria," she said, taking the unlit cigarette out of my hand and sliding it back into the box. "In a field over Llangollen way."
Euphoria?! Christ. Last time I saw her kid he was playing with a toy tractor and now he's spending the weekend at an illegal rave. I don't blame him, really. The outdoor parties of the 90s were the best thing that could've happened to Snowdonia when we were teenagers. All those crusties turning up in their smelly camper vans, chewing gum and waving glo-sticks in our faces. I had to sneak off to them in the middle of the night most of the time, as my parents seemed to think I was a bit young to be jumping around remote quarries with people from Liverpool at fifteen years old.
"I didn't even know they still had those raves!" I said to Sian, excited all of a sudden — maybe we could take our wine and her fags and go?
"He's only ten years old, Annie, it's not a rave," she said.
"EWE-phoria. It's an educational centre — he's going to be a sheep-farmer when he grows up."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
archive
- August 2011 (1)
- July 2011 (2)
- June 2011 (15)
- May 2011 (9)
- April 2011 (19)
- March 2011 (19)
- February 2011 (17)
- January 2011 (2)
- December 2010 (2)
- November 2010 (1)
- October 2010 (3)
- September 2010 (2)
- July 2010 (3)
- June 2010 (3)
- April 2010 (1)
- February 2010 (2)
- January 2010 (2)
- September 2009 (1)
- August 2009 (4)
- July 2009 (4)
- June 2009 (3)
- May 2009 (8)
- April 2009 (11)
- March 2009 (12)
- February 2009 (9)
- January 2009 (4)
- December 2008 (10)
- November 2008 (27)
- October 2008 (21)
- September 2008 (12)
- August 2008 (9)
- July 2008 (11)
- June 2008 (5)
- May 2008 (5)
- April 2008 (12)
- March 2008 (10)
- February 2008 (11)
- January 2008 (15)
- December 2007 (10)
- November 2007 (9)
- October 2007 (3)
- September 2007 (9)
- August 2007 (8)
- July 2007 (10)
- June 2007 (13)
- May 2007 (14)
- April 2007 (11)
- March 2007 (11)
- February 2007 (12)
- January 2007 (9)
- December 2006 (4)
- November 2006 (10)
- October 2006 (8)
- September 2006 (12)
- August 2006 (19)
- July 2006 (22)
- June 2006 (7)
- May 2006 (25)
- April 2006 (18)
- March 2006 (5)
- April 2004 (1)
- November 1998 (1)
- March 1980 (1)
Ha Ha very funny. I had to type EWE phoria into Google because I just couldn't believe that such a place could exist. But of course I never should of doubted you.
ReplyDeleteI still think you should of took your wine and fags and joined in the fun with the kids though
I giggled in such a high-pitched fashion that I then got embarassed, even though I'm alone, give or take a perturbed dog.
ReplyDeleteYes I thought raves were as good as defunct too. Surely the fashionable thing nowadays is to roll around in lakes of mud under a collapsed waterlogged tent telling everyone it's the greatest experience you've ever had? And this sheep-farming malarkey - it's probably just a respectable cover for organising mega-raves in the Welsh mountains.
ReplyDeleteOf course there are raves now. But it's nu-rave. Like them Klaxons and stuff. I think.
ReplyDelete(This is when mortality comes in - when there's a revival of something you were too old for the first time around.)
Do people still wear smiley badges?
How funny, Annie.
ReplyDeleteGood for you for still being game for a rave. I'd be deaf for two days afterwards.
The Klaxons are shite.
ReplyDeleteTrue story; my Word Verification is xttc. Grab your Vics and Juicy Fruit! It's a sign!
I admire such career focus at a young age.
ReplyDeleteSheep farming vs. raves. I wonder which would frighten me more as a parent.
ReplyDeleteI miss raves too. They were fun.
Sian is a sheep-farmer's daughter so I don't think she is phased by it.
ReplyDeleteSometimes the raves were up in the forests right behind our house. One night my mum went up with a friend to see what was going on. Some crusties gave them a toke and they danced a bit, then they went home again.
And I will do it again when I get a chance!
ReplyDeleteI've never seen a sheep at a rave and now I know why.
ReplyDeleteMum rocks.
ReplyDeleteFirst I clicked on Erik under the quote from his blog, under your "Blonk of the Week" bit. Then had to google "euphoria" and "ewephoria", while reading a bit about both I came across a blog with the name ewephoria. Then clicked to another link, then to another. Annie, not sure if you are fully aware what you have done to my life. I used to sit in front of my comp for hours and now, it's worse!
ReplyDeleteWhat's a crusty? Or crusties?
ReplyDeleteThat is too funny.
ReplyDeleteMore baahahaha than bwahahaha.
ReplyDeleteHow great!! I love the sound of Ewe-phoria.
ReplyDeleteThey still have raves up near my folks house in the hills, they were always loud enough to be clearly heard but too far away to walk to in the dark. My sisters tell me that they were awesome, I only made it to one and I didn't have a clue what was going on.
From Wonkipedia:
ReplyDelete"Crusties are members of a subculture/counterculture based around D.I.Y. ethics, anarchism and freetekno and crust punk music. Typically with untidy or dirty clothes and hair, often dreadlocks, scullets, mullets, mohawks, or any combination, and stereotypically no regular job. It is also the nickname for Galway United supporters."
And why the word "crust"?
ReplyDeleteI suppose I should feel embarraSSed for not knowing. But what the heck, I didn't and asked.
Thanks Annie, I should use Wonkipedia more often... maybe... *pause* not. :p
No don't, you're addicted enough as it is. I think "crust" comes from the stuff you can find between their toes. And other orifices.
ReplyDeleteOh dear... I may be a crusty. The shame. The shame.
ReplyDeleteAS for Ewephoria, I hope it becomes a ewephenism.
I used to want to be a crusty, but then I slept with one by mistake and changed my mind.
ReplyDeleteAnd that was a great ewelogy, baa the way.
Thank ewe.
ReplyDeleteI've re-examined myself and my living circumstances and I think I don't actually qualify as a crusty, and not only because there aren't wheels under my address.
There's an awful lot of ewerine coming out of you lot!
ReplyDeleteMary, it's the present-day equivalent of a ewecharistic congress.
ReplyDeleteDo ewe not think you're ramming the point home slightly?
ReplyDeleteEwe-phobia sounds nearly as much fun as Spud World.
ReplyDeleteps. My word verification was owzfly. Make of it what you will.
I like the kid's clear concept of what he wants in life.
ReplyDeleteMy understanding is that underground raves are very much 'back', although some would argue that they never left. I'm not sure the Klaxons have got anything to do with it, though.
ReplyDeleteI went out with a crusty for four years. We split up when he moved into a tree and kept coming into the estate agents where I worked to photocopy flyers for the tree protest.
Er, last I heard he was 'building a castle somewhere in Wales'.
EWE-phoria? you're kidding, right?
ReplyDeleteand are you sure Sian should be happy about him wanting to be a sheep farmer??
Yes, I'm sure! He gets his own mountain and everything. It's just a different world up there, hey London Girl.
ReplyDeleteLOL!
ReplyDelete(btw, just a warning, dont look at the new pic over breakfast tomorrow ;))
c'mon - i bet it is a rave. didn't you used to tell your parents you were going on educational visits, to look at saxon churches and the like, and then sneak off to have some fun? was that only me, then?
ReplyDeleteI had to Google it too! I didn't know such places existed. This is just one more reason why Wales is cool and I need to visit.
ReplyDeleteLmao! Especially at Ange's baa joke!
ReplyDeleteMy kids loved feeding baby lambs from babymilk bottles at the local farm when they were kids and then throwing grain to the chickens. Altho the teen was scarred for life when, as a 3yo and not much bigger than the chickens, they started pecking at the trailing toggles on her little anorak and she fell over and got mobbed by them. The kids also loved looking at the little piggies suckling at their mothers in the crates. And then we'd go and eat bacon butties in the cafe. Somehow, they never made the connection...
In 1992 I went to England for a couple of weeks, someone took me to a rave... and decided I wanted to stay forever. Well, it wasn't forever but it took me 12 years to come back to Bilbao. Gosh! how I miss those all night dancing parties....
ReplyDeletetoo damn funny, sugar...and then the comments...well done!
ReplyDelete