trying to remember the night before the morning after can be likened to loosing your photographs and only having the negatives. but the thing is, you've spilt coffee all over the film so half are unrecognisable and the other half are blurred and sticky. you scrabble around squinting at the tiny images, hoping to see a face...remember a bar. your head pounds in a soft rhythm as you trace your steps back through the darkness, snatching at anything...the first few notes from a song briefly replaying itself...or the taste of a sweet drink hastily swallowed. i woke last sunday morning from a slumber deep enough for sleeping beauty to be impressed. i felt the world edge it's way into my consciousness and with it, it brought a loud and crashing mess of broken and dismantled memories, ones that i spent the morning painstakingly stitching back together. every step was a painful reminder, but each stab also brought a smile to my face as it plunged my mind back to the dancing, the wild giddy rush that drenches your body when theres alcohol running through the veins and your favourite song beating through the ribcage.