'Your problem,' Flinty counselled me, slopping whisky from his glass as he waved it in my direction, 'is that you're a pemassist, I mean pessimist. You should take a leaf from Monty Python and always look on the bright side of life. I might have fucked up a tadge on the timing of that cruise booze, but it turned out to be a winner. Isn't that right?'

'He is right, Simmo,' Spud agreed. 'If it hadn't been for that, we'd never have had the rave.'

I had to admit that the rave had made us some money, kick-started our social life, and given us minor celebrity status amongst the youth of Swindon. It was probably the only one of our many schemes that was a complete success.

***

Our 18th birthdays had passed with none of the wild orgies we were hoping for. We went out, got drunk, made fools of ourselves and scoffed kebabs ... just like any other night of the week.

We'd decided to wait till we were all eighteen before going back to Dover to collect our impounded merchandise from the customs shed, which meant waiting until after Flinty's birthday as he was the youngest. We only wanted to make the trip once, and I wasn't willing to risk wrecking my suspension again, so we needed transport. Fortunately, one of Spud's mates at work had a Transit van and agreed to take us if we paid for the petrol and gave him a couple of bottles of vodka.

Declan picked us up early one Saturday morning in November and I made sure Flinty had remembered his passport before we set off. We got to the customs shed with no problems and, after producing our receipt and passports for inspection, were shown to two pallets stacked high with our investment.

'Jesus!' Declan said as we started loading the Transit. 'You've enough here to open a bar. What're you going to do with it all?'

'Divide it three ways and drink it,' I told him.

'Or we could sell it and make a few quid,' Flinty suggested.

'If you want to make some decent money, and have a good time, you should have a rave,' Declan advised, humping another crate into the van.

'You have to hire a massive hall for a rave,' I pointed out. 'It would cost a fortune.'

Spud and Declan looked at each other.

'Unit Three!' they said in unison.

***

By the time we reached Swindon the plan was in place. Spud and Declan were working for a local builder who specialised in property development. He had bought a large industrial unit on the outskirts of Swindon and was going to divide it into smaller units to rent out to small businesses. The work was due to start in January.

But the beauty of it was, Spud explained, that the place was full of junk, and he and Declan had volunteered to work during Christmas week to clear it out. They would have the keys over the whole of the Christmas holidays.

Declan wanted in, so we agreed on equal shares of the profits if he matched the £100 each we'd already spent and donated his vodka. We set a date of December 29th, halfway between Christmas and New Years' Eve, when there wouldn't be much else going on in the Swindon area.

There wasn't any point dividing up our stock, so when we got home I talked my dad into letting us put it in our garden shed. It cost us a bottle of Bell's and a promise to remove it all by January but that was no problem.

Then we got down to the serious business of organising our rave.

***

We drove to Unit Three and surveyed it from the outside. Spud told us it had originally been three separate units but the partition walls had been taken out to make one large space. It had been owned by a company that built car trailers but they'd gone bust. His boss was going to put the partitions back, but for now, only number three still had double front doors and a vehicle entrance with a roller shutter. Outside of the roller shutter, a large skip had already been put in position, ready for the clearance work. Spud had been inside with his boss and told us it had electricity and several toilets. It was perfect. 

All we needed were some flashing lights, a sound system and publicity.

***

My brother Paul, who was thirteen at the time, was seriously into music in a big way, and not just the popular groups, but stuff like Tchaikovsky and Mozart. He had built a humongous stereo system in his bedroom from bits and pieces he'd picked up from his friends or bought cheaply in second-hand shops. It had a couple of enormous speakers, which he could only use when mum and dad were out. The rest of the time he had to make do with headphones. I asked him if I could borrow his system for a Christmas party.

'You can go and get stuffed,' he told me. 'You and your mates will break it as soon as you touch it. You're always plastered.'

I offered to pay for any damage but he wouldn't have it. I decided to approach him when he was in a better mood.

The publicity went better. I carefully wrote out a flyer four times on a sheet of paper then made 50 copies on the garage photocopier when Brian wasn't around. We called it the 'Unit 3 Rave' and priced the entrance at £10 a head with a free bar. I also added 'Bring Your Own Mixers' at the bottom, under the directions.

I cut the pages up and gave about 150 flyers to Flinty to hand out in McDonald's. Spud and I took the rest to give to friends and acquaintances.

A trip to Poundland sorted out the lighting. We bought a dozen cheap sets of flashing Christmas lights and a pack of glow sticks to hand out.

***

A couple of days before Christmas, Spud got the keys and we all took time off work to go and help get the unit cleared out. I'd asked Paul to come and help but the little blighter refused and still wouldn't agree to lend us his sound system. Declan had a ghetto blaster, but that wasn't up to the job. We were considering hiring a mobile disco but that would seriously eat into our profits. We needed at least fifty people to turn up to break even as it was. I decided to try Paul once more, but that night when I went home he was nowhere to be found. Our parents were visiting friends and the house was empty. Then I heard singing coming from the garden shed.

I found Paul slumped on the floor of the shed swigging a bottle of Kronenbourg. Four empties were scattered around him.

'Jus wanna see wha ... beerslike,' he slurred when he noticed me.

'You idiot! Dad'll kill you.'

'S'only wha you did when you was my age,' he mumbled groggily.

'I never got pissed,' I lied, adding 'at least not at home' under my breath.

'Come on. Let's get you to bed,' I said dragging him up the garden to the house.

'Don' tell dad,' he begged.

'Don't worry. I won't say a word,' I promised. 'As long as I can borrow your stereo.'

***

Our rave was a blast. There were some old tables and workbenches in the unit that we used for the bar and sound system. Flinty and Declan took turns choosing the music. Spud and I took the money at the door. Well over a hundred people turned up and no-one went home until the booze ran out at around five in the morning.

Flinty must have given every female in Swindon under forty a flyer because the women outnumbered the blokes by about two to one.

I'd parked the Ratmobile next to the unit and woke up in the back just as it was getting light. Then I realised the body next to mine wasn't Flinty or Spud and when I gingerly turned around I was greeted by a belch and a waft of halitosis. I focussed my eyes and winced. She had looked pretty good under the flashing Christmas lights but seemed to have aged dramatically with the coming of dawn. She looked older than my mother. I looked under the blankets that covered us. We were both naked. I realised I had lost my virginity and couldn't remember a thing about it.

Then she stirred, opened bloodshot eyes, sat up and yawned.

'Morning love,' she said cheerfully, looking at her watch. 'Bleedin' hell, look at the time! My old feller'll be home from his nightshift soon.'

I watched, not daring to move, as she frantically pulled on her clothes then flung open the rear passenger door, letting in a welcome gust of fresh air.

'Well?' she said, standing outside and looking at me expectantly.

'Er ... thank you very much. It was lovely,' I stammered.

'Bollocks to that, love. Just give me my twenty quid and I'll be off.'