The Black Cat Home

Briggy and I got a day pass for the Reading Festival back in 2003; he had friends in Reading so the plan was to stay at theirs on the Saturday night after the festivities. We arrived at their house that morning to meet up and drop off gear; they were a lot older than me and entirely civilised. We had Bucks Fizz and a beautiful fry up for breakfast in the garden and then walked down to the festival site. It was a good twenty five minute walk, I’d never been to Reading before and so had no idea where we were going. It was a stunning day and once on site we sat on the grass drinking and listening to bands at a nice distance to avoid being trampled. By midnight those guys were ready for the off, I wasn’t however, so we bid goodnight and I wondered off into the dark in search of pills. It wasn’t long before I scored and so I double dropped and bopped from dance tent to dance tent, happy as Larry and oblivious to the fact that I didn’t know any of the girls that I fell in love and danced with. Eventually the organisers pulled the plug and I set off home alone. I came out of the entrance we’d come in through and saw a bridge to my right; I recognised it, having borrowed a light underneath it on route that morning. One of the guys had told us how it had been blown up a few years back by some urban terrorists. I can’t remember if Briggy had said he’d been one of them, or whether I’d just dreamt that. I do recall his thorough brief in how it had been done and what damage had been caused. Anyway, off I traipsed in the darkness, under the rebuilt bridge only to be met by a fork further up in the road. I was lost. Whilst gathering my thoughts a black cat came across a park to my immediate left. It started weaving through the railings between the park and the footpath, goading me to follow it, so I did. The cat led me up the left hand fork, across roads, up streets and down garden paths for approximately twenty minutes and then vanished. I had until that moment been living in a dream and was now forced to take stock as to where exactly I’d ended up, immediately I recognised the road. I’d clocked it’s Massage Parlour on our way to the festival, I was literally two minutes away from my hosts, theirs being the next street on the left. They couldn’t believe it when I made it back, when I told them how they laughed. I slept in the garden’s hammock for the rest of that night, to be closer to the magic.