Wet

Brighton had its White Night night the other night. Good English, eh? It was an all-night mini-festival to celebrate the clocks going back. Its key feature was Wet Sounds, an event where you could go to the Prince Regent Swimming Pool and float about listening to underwater music.

What a great idea! I went along with the idea of relaxing in warm water while basslines washed over me. I expected a near-outerbody experience in the dark, serene waters of the swimming pool.

Instead I froze my arse off in a puddle of chlorinated piss listening to the underwater sound of a clock being wound up – as amplified through a tin can – mixed with the sound of a whistle being blown every ten seconds while hundreds of pissed-up, middle class wankers threw rubber ducks at each other like it was a fucking kiddies pool party and I was nine.

Who the hell thought this would be a good idea?