Photographs taken at Dance 91, Aston Villa Leisure Centre, Birmingham

Me and my friends were on acid once and we went for a walk near my parents' house. We walked down the side of the local school in the dark.

A shape appeared in the gloom.

"What's that?" someone asked. It seemed to be white.

"It's a horse, I think" I said. Horses were allowed to roam around the fields there.

The shape was coming towards us. In our minds it still hadn't taken a recognisable form.

"What is it? What is it?!"

It was getting closer.

"There's someone there."

"No, it's a horse!"

"No, it's just a bag floating in the wind."

"What is it? What is it?!"

A stranger's voice came from the shape. A black country voice of a black country man walking his dog. "It's only me!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, alright mate." we laughed, trying as hard as possible to appear straight.

It was the day after Friday night at Picasso's in Wolverhampton. The club was crap. Boy George played and everyone moaned because he couldn't actually mix records. Beat-matching was pretty standard up until Boy George and Wolverhampton just didn't get it.

I had been shopping in Wolverhampton and got on the bus to go home. A big crowd of Wolves supporters crowded over the bus station, blocking traffic and shouting. One of them, a fairly sober looking gentleman, knocked on the window to get my attention, and kindly spat on the window in front of me.

One of the Wolves supporters got on the bus. I knew him, Richard, we went to school together. Richard had the reputation of being tough, fairly comical but also as hard as nails in any fight, which he seemed to pick frequently. Rumour had it that his father was an ex-boxer.

"Alright, Si?" he had never given me any trouble as I very much kept myself to myself.

"Alright, Rich", I said. Anything said to Richard had to be generally placating. "Enjoy Picasso's last night?"

"Yeah, I was off my head." He was right. I saw him and his mates stumbling around the club, looking doe-eyed and sweating profusely, smiling from ear to ear.

"Yeah, me too." It was the standard conversation. "Boy George was shite wasn't he?". We agreed, luckily.

He showed me the contents of his pocket. It was half a brick. He had intended on using it on someone after the football match. He smiled. I smiled back placatory.

The bus set off and Richard, obviously still a bit spent from the night before, fell asleep.

It came up to where I knew his bus stop was. Richard was fast asleep, his shaven head leaning against the window of the bus, drooling.

I leant over. "Rich" I said. No response. His bus stop getting closer: "Rich" I said, louder. Still no response.

I didn't want to startle him because of his volatile nature but if I didn't wake him up he wouldn't be too pleased that I had let him miss his stop. The vision of half a brick in his pocket made me twice as nervous.

The bus was slowing down for his stop.

"Rich!" I shouted and shook his arm.

"What!" he jumped upright and stared, wild-eyed, at me.

"It's your stop." I said, terrified.

"Oh, thanks" he said and got off.

James had red cheeks. My mates and I used his place to go and have a smoke occasionally. We all lived with our parents so we couldn't enjoy a smoke easily. I had passed my driving test before my friends did so I used to ferry us up to Wolverhampton to go and get stoned round various people's flats.

Once, when we knocked on James's door, he answered it with his usual red cheeks and nothing but his pants on and said: "Ooh, sorry, I'm just cleaning out my back passage."

A great half an hour was once spent round his flat, stoned, getting his cat to chase a torch light up the walls.

It was common practice for me to stay heavily awake for whole weekends at a time.

One such weekend, it had got to Sunday night and I hadn't slept since Friday. At 2am I was finally drifting into a gritty-eyed slumber when I heard something outside.

Horses hooves.

I shook my head to wake myself up from what was obviously a dream.

No. A horse galloping. Getting louder, closer.

I got up and got to the window in time to see a white horse gallop full-steam down the white lines of the road. It was going so fast its mane was billowing behind it.

What the hell?! Such a disturbing sight at 2am.

The vision stayed with me through the night but eventually I got some sleep.

The next day I mentioned it to my work mates. I was working part-time in a shitty cash and carry warehouse at the time, throwing boxes around so that I could afford pills and entrance fees. My friend told me that Indians believe if you see a white horse you will die in the next week. Ha ha, very funny.

The next week I went to a club called Shelleys in Stoke. A week earlier some kid had died in there. There were rumours that the door search was going to be stringent so I necked my drugs before I went in there. They all came up at once, which was good for the first half an hour, then I really felt awful. I mean bad. I thought I was going to pass out and it took all my energy to stay conscious. I looked in the mirror and a skeleton looked back. My friends looked out for me and I was alright by the time the club finished, but only after five hours of thinking I was going to die. All I could imagine was my parents coming back off holiday and me not being there to meet them.

Then, a few days later I was walking up my street when a car came screeching round the corner being chased by a police car. The car mounted the kerb, out of control, and hit the wall, just where I was about to walk. A bunch of kids got out the car and were grabbed by the coppers.

I know the horse had probably escaped from the fields behind my house where a few sad looking nags were kept for dog meat or something. And I know that paranoia had probably made me believe I was going to die at the club. And that the chance of me walking along the street where the car crashed were slim. But, still.

I used to be a raver. There, I admit it.

I started going out to clubs around the Midlands from 91 when I was 17 and I had the time of my life. I carried on going out until about 94. During this time I had some of the most weird and wonderful moments of my life.

Now, 14 years after taking my first E, I think it would be good to get some of these stories out of my head.