Walls still bend.

Kevin and Dave were Mancunians and sweated cool from every pore. Kevin was tall and long-haired, like a lugubrious Viking, Dave smaller, dark and sharp. I met them at the White Hart, a seedy but vibrant pub in Caerleon where most things were available. The place to go on a Friday night. When the pub closed, we went to a bungalow they’d rented in the country nearby, and continued the party. In daylight the bungalow was bland with beige carpets and mushroom coloured walls. At night, lit by two dim lamps, the walls glowed dark gold and bent in time to the music. It was good for a time, until the cool ran out.