IT’S a rainy Saturday night in East London, when three taxis pull up outside a warehouse in Hackney. Armed with only a text message of it’s whereabouts, there’s a certain air of apprehension amongst my friends as we approach the doors. Once inside, our names are ticked off the guest list (this party is not for random walkers-in off the street) and we pay our £3 entry fee.
It’s one of our friends 25th birthday’s and she’s promptly presented with a handmade birthday card from the organisers. This all comes as a bit of surprise considering my only illegal rave experience involved being barricaded inside a Sainsbury’s storage facility in Brighton, with about 500 dreadlocked drug-dealers and their pet Alsatians whilst the police waited outside to shut it down and search everyone.
