30 August 2004


By the time I fight through the canteen, Sean and Tracey have already lost the battle with all those plastic chairs I never liked. Christina is sitting on the smouldering carpet next to a dribbling extinguisher. Her legs are spread and her white knickers are showing. Her normally smooth and flawless face has been painted black, with two clear slug trails slowly making their way down sooty cheeks. The smoke burns and worms up my nose and down my throat, it's like having a three bar fire in your lungs and I can't see. That red plastic really does stink.