Her eyes were the same green as the sea on a summer day, and her smile infectious. I found myself smiling back at her and not knowing why. ‘Who are ...ou?’ ‘They call me Maggie. But ’tis the truth I have many names.’ She smiled at me broadly. ‘And ye, Regan of the future, may call me Maggie.’ I fell back on the pillows beneath my head. ‘I’m sorry. Did you call me Regan of the future?’ She smiled again at me. ‘Aye child.’ She stood and picked up a goblet from the table beside me. I did a double. Kirsten was well tooled up. E'd and spiked and sinking into narcotic euphoria. Already her long hair was damp with sweat and it splashed against her bare shoulders. Then the squelch of the first few beats of 'Avenue', punctuated by ecstatic samples from something quite different. She'd been looking forward to this festival forever. Or at least since she and her friends had booked tickets on the net. Somewhere beyond the crowds was their tent, where they'd spent hours chilling out to the sounds. More

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