"I could wait a long, long time,
Before I hear another love song."
Slap bang at
the mid-point of the Great Goth Wars (1985-1989), I found myself in the cold,
dank trenches. Well, in a cold, dank hole. In some forgotten valley in Devon. Way
behind enemy lines, on a school geography trip (yep, the same trip where I’d
been made to sleep on a fire escape for three days).
This had been
my friend Scott’s idea. Not the trip. He didn’t have that kind of influence
over the educational board. No, the whole sleeping-in-a-hole thing. Our
teachers were taking us camping on the wild and windy moors for the night. So
we could sleep under a tree by a stream. Still not sure to this day why that was so
essential to passing my geography O-Level. But, as was quickly becoming the
theme of the week, the school hadn’t brought enough tents. So two people would
have to make their own shelters. You can see where this is going.
The upside
was that Scott and I didn’t have to lug a rucksack of poles, tarpaulin and
other gubbins over hills and across dales. The rather major downside was that we
spent an April night shivering in an insect-infested hole, covered by a plastic
sheet weighed down with bricks, as condensation slowly dripped on to our faces.
So it kind of was a learning experience I suppose, in that I’d never do it
again.
 |
| Inner sleeve gothic brooding. |
Spotify linky:
No comments:
Post a Comment