Cornwall, 1999, down for the eclipse, walking straight into the Lizard Festival, staying in a farmhouse just outside of Portreath. Took us 7 hours to drive down from London. Lad obscured by the knee of the scouser, one of my best mates from junior school upwards, handsome lad next to him with the seagull above him, his younger brother, now no longer with us, due to suicide. This is the last of what I would call a "lads holiday" took enough MDMA and skunk with us to sink a battleship.
