WRDM44

UPS this, UPS that. UPS, UPS, UPS, UPS, UPS. That's all anyone in my dance circle ever talks about: UPfuckingS. Honestly, you'd think that Mitsibishis, bluesy woosies and Supermen had never existed.


"You only have to lick one and you'll be up all night."

"They take a while to take hold of you, so don't go doing another half too soon."

"People are dropping dead because they're swallowing three in one go because the backs of their necks aren't tingling after twenty minutes."

"They think that they've been sold duds because they take so long to start working."

"There's a quarter of a gram of MDMA in just one of them."

Bollocks. I double-dropped two of them at once on Friday night and I was as sober as a judge who'd just been sent down for fifteen years for...

...fucking hell, am I really doing a post about UPS ecstasy E tablets about a month after they were in the news?

Anyway, so I double dropped these UPS tablets down House of God on Friday night and, did they work? Did they heck as like! Terry Donovan had just thrown his bright blue Adidas tracksuit top theatrically into the crowd as I did my first quarter (I was drunk, but I still heeded the UPS warnings about how strong they are). Twenty minutes later, and fifteen minutes into Trade's properly fucking horrible - in a good way - live set I dropped the other three quarters of the first pill in one.

- Tonka, I thought you said earlier that you double-dropped them in one go.

- Artistic licence, mate. Fuck off.



Half an hour later, not even a shiver down my spine. I was no nearer to holding hands with a stranger than I was to getting off with anyone younger than thirty five in the drum and bass room. I do love House of God, but if there's another club night in the UK with a median age higher than the one at HOG, I'll eat one of Jamiroquai's hats. I was talking to one bird up on the balcony and she offered me some speed! I said, "love, I'm not doing speed. It's not 1995 and I've just done one of them UPS pills, I'll be flying in a bit." She said, "Suit yourself, you cheeky article". That's how old she was.

Surgeon and Blawan were now high-fiving one another and chucking handfuls of glitter into the crowd. This should have been amazing, but these UPS tabs were either taking a very long time to dissolve in my tummy or they were duds. I paid a tenner each for them. A fucking tenner each. I was fuming by the time Trade were playing their last tune, It Takes Two by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock. I necked the other one whole and steamed through the smiling faces until I reached the wonky disco room. There was a handful of women on the dance floor so I went and danced aggressively next to them - it was the booze talking now. I was almost punching the floor to the beat at one point, and I kept pouting. The women didn't want to know so I went upstairs to the drum and bass room.



I don't really like drum and bass that much but, as I'd given techno and disco a go and the UPS still hadn't delivered, maybe some drum and bass music would sort me out. Would it fuck. I was stood in the middle of the dance floor for ages, riding a low, slow skank with my hands behind my head, trying to massage out a high. I even tried talking to a middle-aged woman called Denise and pretended that I was fucked in the hope that I'd get a sneaky cuddle. I got a cuddle alright but as soon as I asked her for a snog, she smelt my breath, saw how normal my eyeballs were and told me off for not being drugged up. By this point, I didn't know if my main aim was to be fucked up or to be on the pull. I was so confused, "I should be gurning by now", I said to myself in one of the corridors, "I'll give it half an hour."

Between 2.30am and 3am, I stood marching on the spot in the main room, trying my hardest to come up on these UPS pills but, alas, it was not to be, so I fucked off home before Sunil Sharpe had even got the chance to impress me. I thought about buying one of them balloons as a last, desperate attempt to feel something, but, to be honest, you look fucking stupid walking around with a big, red balloon hanging out of your gob, don't you?


I paid over the odds for a taxi back to Walsall and fell asleep in my mom's spare room, and I didn't even brush my fucking teeth. I woke up at 8.30am, brushed my teeth twice, had a shower, got dressed, had a cup of tea, brushed my teeth again and left the flat for a nice walk into Walsall town centre. You can't beat a Weatherspoon's full English breakfast when you've been fucked up on nought but booze. It was a shame them pills didn't work out, but I didn't half feel good about myself for the rest of the weekend. There's something really arrogant about being sober and fresh when you should be sat like a twat on your sofa, semi-comatose on a MASSIVE come down.

I'm writing this on Monday afternoon, two and a half days after swallowing the second of the two UPS pills. It feels good to be writing about dance music and clubbing again after last week's Racism Special. I really don't understand how anyone could be racist, or could hate another human being because, we're all one, aren't we? We're all one body on one Earth staring at the same future, together. Do you feel me? Do you feel it? I don't hate anyone. Not really. Not even Chubby Funster and Seb Wheeler out of Mixmag. I can't hate them because they're just the same as me; human beings. We're all contributing to the dance music community and we're all in that community together, sharing ideas and articles and points of view and we have to respect one another. Dance music is dance music is dance music and the over-arching story we're all characters in is one of love. Not a romantic love story, but a truthful one. Love is truth. Do you understand? When I say that love is truth, do you get what I'm saying to you? Just think about it and hold my hand. Don't think anymore. Just let it be, let the truth wash over you and be involved with me because when you become involved with me, you become involved with truth, and if you're involved in truth you're in love, and love is our aim, our journey and our birth, you know? Love. Smile at me and say the word, "love". Say it, it's ok. Fuck, feels good, doesn't it? Just saying the word, "love", when you feel this way is special.


I love writing, I love my blog, I love Tonka's Week on Ran$om Note and I love writing about dance music every week because it's what I was born to do, do you agree? ARGHHHHHHHH!!!! I fucking love it!!!! I love you even more though, my readers. I wish I could get to know every single one of you right now, because you're the ones who mean more to me than anything else in the world. I feel so high right now because of you. So fucking high. Jesus. My legs are going wild under this desk :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

I mean it. If any of you, my readers, ever need anything at all just email me, Tweet me, Facebook me, whatever. Any time of day or night, and I'll be there for you. I mean that. I love you. You could knock on my door on Christmas Day and I'd lay a place for you at my table. I'm serious. I would. You're ALWAYS welcome at WRDMHQ. Always will be. Hold my hand, man. Give it a squeeze. Fuck. Just typing this stuff out is making the hairs on the back of my goose pimples stand on end. I feel so fucking good right now. I'm not even going to make a big deal out of what looks like a sneaky bit of plagiarism by someone called Lewis Boardman. If I didn't feel so fucked right now, I'd probably kick up a stick about this video from 3:40 onwards, because what this pleased-with-himself beard is showing off as his composition is blatantly Jump Bugs by Syclops aka Maurice Fulton aka looks like a genuinely nice person, as I'm sure Lewis Boardman is.


3:40 onwards.

THEN LISTEN TO THIS:


All the way through.

Lewis Boardman is probably really fucking sound, at the end of the day and it's just a massive coincidence. I really don't want to cast aspersions, and I won't. It's all dance music, isn't it? It doesn't matter if you're listening to Psycho by Lewis Boardman or Jump Bugs by Maurice Fulton, it's all the same, literally, and that's the point. When you're on the dance floor, feeling the way I do right now, you don't question the source, you don't question a thing. You let it flow, you let life flow. Jump Bugs is Psycho is Lewis Boardman is Maurice Fulton is Syclops. House is house, and if one trendy young producer wants to pretend to be another established producer, who is anyone to argue? We all have our heroes and I'm 100% CERTAIN that Psycho is just Lewis Boardman paying homage to one of his heroes. Nothing underhand or quiet about it, in my view. Lewis will put the record straight. I know he will, because he's a good man. Show him love. Show Red Bull Studios love. Show Maurice love. Show me love. Show, show me love.



You know what? You can even see Maurice Fulton play at a party called Big Wave in London this Saturday night. Yeah, man. It's called Big Wave and some of my very dear friends run it. I've never been, but I know it's an amazing night. It's at The Yard Theatre, man, and tickets are only ten pounds.

Here's a link, you should go. Maurice might even play Psycho by Lewis Boardman.

bigwave.eventcube

I feel so good right now. I need to dance. Excuse me. I'm going to sign off and find my rhythm in the living room.

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I am fucking RUSHING right now, lads. Rushing. UPS, man. UPfuckingS.



Dedicated to the memory of Laura M.