Wednesday, 16 September 1992 – As much as he liked the excessive partying on the weekends, it was the Wednesday date at his hometown’s medium-sized club he loved most: No need to listen to the tiresome chatter about gear and substances, no long build-ups, the DJs would always come right to the point with the punters well up for it. Again, he wasn’t disappointed. Without much fuss, a banging kick drum was dropped, just to get drowned a murky pond of acid bleeps and a psychotropic melodic backdrop. No time to catch one’s breath: More rave dementia, interrupted by a break sporting a strangely listless female voice. The nerve-tingling bass effects got the crowd going berserk, and the night was on, the virus had broken out.