Somebody gave me Spike. OK, not a big dance/rave drug, but it sure as hell worked for me. And I had three - count em, three - beers. And some Jim Beam and a mouthful of Lagavulin which I had to look up to know how to spell and tasted less like petrol than expected. Um, yes. So there was dancing and there were glowsticks (you know you love em) and Jodi's birthday was celebrated in style. The sun came up on us anyway..
And yes, Jez, they are the Wrong Trousers, only pants that make you dance should really be called the Right Trousers. And no, I didn't end up tied to anything.
Today there will be some people with hangovers walking up a hill and it will do them the world of good.