'Yeah me too'
'Listen do you want to go outside and sit down?'
'It's pretty cold out there'
'What's the time?'
'Who's on after Van Dyk?'
'I dunno, Jim says he doesn't play over here very often works with Oakey over in the US, listen we'll blow through come on I'm still well up for it'
She laughs. I love that laugh, it's reserved for me, kind of despairing, but means I've got away with it.
'Yeah alright' she says
We headed back into the tent which seems weirdly empty considering Paul Van Dyk's omnipotent presence everywhere this summer. The Crasher kids are still at it, all whirly glowsticks and contorted faces. I couldn't help but laugh when I heard about the poster that appeared up at Republic last month 'I'm drug free like PVD'. Fuck knows who that was because this lot are gurning like gooduns.
'The others have gone to the front' I shout
'Yeah yeah let me grab Kate'
Nic disappears and I shimmy down to the barrier. Van Dyk's whirlwinding to a close. A thin dark guy's bobbing around maniacally behind him. Watching the decks. Checking the crowd. Bounce. 'For an Angel' starts to segue in, those soaring synths washing over you. PVD is a crowd pleaser, the place is going crazy. The whoops that accompanied people really coming up around 2pm have gone and been replaced by a chugging crowd, and the mass has the space to dance, the kind of dance you only get at that time of the morning, rythmic, measured, totally going with every beat. Every movement synchronised after 6 or 7 hours of trying to really get with it and here we are we've all arrived and PVD's coming to a finale and taking everyone with him.
And then, the guy on the spring again. Checking the crowd. Bounce. Checking the decks. Bounce. Suddenly he disappears. Then he pops up with vinyl in his hand. He whispers to PVD and then slaps the 12" on the deck and suddenly God swaps places with Zebedee. Shit.
'Hi ya' I look down and Nic's bobbing about with Kate stood behind. I have a smiley nod at Cath and she grins wide and throws herself into a music box ballerina 360. I grin back and she throws her arms round me.
'You having a good time' she shouts
'Is he on next?'
'I hope not'
'What do you mean?'
Three people stare across the barrier at Zebedee, he has the 12" back in his hand, checking the crowd, jumping, bouncing, checking the crowd, jumping, bouncing, check the decks, checks the levels, bounce, bounce. Jesus christ maybe I should have gone outside.
...he slaps the vinyl back down, grabs the phones, swings the arm, smashes the cross fader across and sucks every last ounce of bass out of the tent.
Everything holds it's breath.
Zebedee looks up and grins. A wicked knowing grin. What the fuck does he know...
... a tune from the heavens crashes in.
Oh my fucking God, a tingle spreads down from the top of my head and through every part of my body.
15 yards away I spot Simon and Jaack pogoing. Jack doesn't pogo. Ever! But we clock each other and all our arms go up and we bounce.
Enter stage left, Jim comes running out of nowhere 'It's Ralph, it's Dave Ralph I told you he was fucking good. How fucking good was that'
We're all, all over the place, Jim's grinning, Kate and Nic are laddering away behind me. Ed, Jack, Simon, Meg and me are swaying (where did Meg and Ed come from?) And as we look back to the decks so's Dave Ralph, he's climbed out the back of the box and run about 20 yards out, arms windmilling. That's the kind of DJ you want, basically just one of the crowd. When they're part of the crowd they know exactly what to play next.
Viva Creamfields 2000