It started off simply enough, sat on the second floor of an abandoned office block, formerly the AS-DA gallery. Wine, beer, cigarettes, all were flowing, and a strange breed of repetitive music, no discernable rhythm yet somehow musical. The gallery had only lasted a few days, Adem, one of the party-goers, was explaining it to me. “Anarchists came, they bought this filthy dog in here, and they scratched ‘A’s into the floor. I suppose that’s what anarchy is all about these days, drinking beer they’d bought from Tesco on Tottenham Court Road and vandalising other people’s property.”
“They’re filthy degenerates.” I agreed, “They bought a fucking dog in. People have to sleep in here, it’s a squat.”
“What do you mean they sleep here?”
“They sleep in the back, in the greenhouse. And they cook downstairs, where that music’s coming from. Listen, through that hole.”
"Why is there a hole in the floor? What happened to the gallery that was here? I read about it in Time Out."
“That’s what happened to the gallery, it got fucked up by assholes. They broke the floor there.” A ladder had almost killed someone after collapsing through the weakened floor, and this is what lead me to the roof.

Up on the roof, I had forgotten how to work my cassette recorder. The headphones were deafening me, the wind noise removed any chance of me being able to hear people. The other revellers were giving me strange looks, I was shouting, but I couldn’t hear their responses. Terrible things were happening, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Eventually, they gave up talking to me and went back to their drugs. They bundled me down the stairs and left me to my own devices. It was probably a good move on their part, but I felt nothing but rage for their poor treatment of me.

There was no sane reason for the residents of AS-DA. The front door had been drilled by the owners of the buildings, or their representatives, so many times that there were 5 different bolts to hold it shut. When intoxicated it became immensely confusing to anyone trying to exit the building, I couldn’t open the damn thing to save my life. I was alone, terrified in the dark.
“Unlock, you fucker. Let me out! Why won’t you work?”
There was no electricity here, no lights. The AS-DA residents hadn’t enough extension lead to put lighting at the front of the building, and the alcohol had given me an unsteady walk, bouncing off the walls of the corridor. Some poor soul understood my random gibbering and managed to unlock the door, releasing me upon the civilians outside. The game of calling the telephone boxes opposite the gallery was in full swing, and all four of them were ringing out of synchronisation. Woe betide the unsuspecting drunk, who answered the late night calls. What good could come of it? They would be fed lies by the caller, with increasingly bizarre requests until they hung up, only for the cruel game to start all over again. I accosted a lonely looking girl ignoring the ringing telephones. “Hey you, why don’t you answer those phones?” I managed.
“Because it’s just drunk dialling, the calls aren’t meant for anybody.” Somehow, she had discovered our plan. I didn’t know how, or why.
“What do you know? Have you reported this to the police? They’re like animals at this time of night, you should flee! Leave the bus stop, come to our party!”
At least the numbers weren’t diminishing. I offered her some marijuana, some kind soul had thought it a good idea to stop my decent into alcoholicism by changing my drug intake for the night. She looked grateful, following me inside, but nothing else would happen that evening. I started ranting. “New Year’s Eve, it’s bollocks.”
“What? New Year’s is fantastic, I had a great one.” Already, she was beginning not to trust me. Clever girl.
“No, we’re British, therefore we’re all locked in the terrible trap of capitalism. We shouldn’t be celebrating New Year’s Eve. Roger had a great idea for a party then, we could annoy suits.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never had a bad experience then. It’s fantastic!”
“Well I agree we should celebrate, but because we’re on this wage based economy rubbish, we should celebrate Financial New Year. Stop laughing at me.”
I was in that terrible state, knowing I was right about all the wrong things, trying to justify my incorrect opinions with increasingly insane supporting arguments.

“So what’s this for? The F.B.I.?” A fiendish looking man was accusing me of being a spy, because of recording equipment.
“No, not the F.B.I., the M.I.5. We don’t like any of this new age squatting bullshit at the agency, all these people are scum.”
“Well, fuck off then. I’m not talking to you any more.” I was making friends. Not the kind that would save me in a fight, but maybe the kind that would start a fight on my behalf. They undoubtedly looked violent enough. I decided to make a retreat to the main section of the party. The looping, insane music was still playing, none of it making much sense. I was sure the same record had been playing for five hours now, nobody seemed to notice. I tried to make my point to Steph, but none of my arguments made much sense.
“These people are all full of alcohol and naughty things, and they’re alive. They’ll cause a ruckus, we won’t be able to handle it. It’s like a rave, this noise will go on for the next six hours, then change up a pitch. Murat will be running around yelling that it was a breakthrough, but it’ll still just be this same fucking track.”
“You won’t be able to hear me because of this horrible music. But I think you’re right. Do you want some vino? I don’t have much to say.”
“But you live here, you can do something about it. You’re allowed to say things like ‘who are these shits, why are they in my house?’”
“Well these fuckers only came back because we got more wine.”
“Quite a lot of them did, they left and returned. I stuck it out.” I felt vindicated and hardcore. If only I had realised the mess I was in, it was not a pretty sight. I remember walking around a darkened room, stumbling over my own legs, until I fell over some poor character who’d decided to sleep on the floor. I apologised, unaware if the sleeper had noticed. From the toilets I heard what might have been the sounds of a one man orgy, but I decided I shouldn’t investigate. It was one of the best ideas I’d have all night.

I awoke, freezing, at 7am. I was alone, in the loft of the building, where the roof had collapsed. A thin layer of snow had covered me resulting in uncontrollable shivering. Someone else had been here though, they had left a reminder of their presence in the form of a frozen puddle of sick several feet away. I could only be thankful that they’d missed me. The blanket I’d found had appeared to have no warming properties, it was full of holes. AS-DA was finished, but I was still alive.

Paul Hardcastle
hardcastle@wideasleep.net