The horses in the Lee Riding Centre whinnied in panic. A kestrel wheeled away from its hunt and shot across the skyline to the Essex filter beds. Two men behind the reservoir hurried out from under cover, hurriedly pulling up their pants.
As the cracking got louder, leathery tubes began to snake from concrete plinths at the feet of pylons, slithering through the scrub and plugging into sockets concealed in boggy sinkholes, wherein lay the ancient soundsystems of Marshlanta, a lost analogue tribe.
There was a cacophonous clatter as the tubes plugged themselves in. Then music began to play.
“GIVE ME MY MIND BACK”, boomed one of the pylons, gyrating wildly, wrenching free from its cables. From Hackney Marsh to Enfield, the others followed suit. Soon the pylons were free to pull on Spandex mini-skirts and tight leather pants. They began to strut up and down the old aqueduct path while herons, gulls, parakeets and crows flocked in spirals around them.
As the beats accelerated, some of the pylons bowed down to snort gravel from the freight train lines. Others sucked from the giant gas cylinders overlooking the industrial estate. What a buzz! The disco had well and truly begun.
The good vibes vanished quickly when sinister human ravers emerged from the marshes, carrying stockpiles of ketamine, acid and Roflcopter. The ravers may have been tiny spindles of flesh, but the giant pylons were in over their heads.
Famously, pylons are unsuited to human drugs. Soon they were are in a sorry state, swimming in the reservoirs (instantly electrocuting thousands of cormorants), copping off with telegraph poles, dry humping the Lee Valley Ice Centre and enthusiastically making plans to set up electronic bookshop/bars in South America. The gibberish intensified and the drainage ditches around the marsh quickly filled with fluorescent electro puke as, one-by-one the great pylons toppled.
Meanwhile in London, the lights went out…
Below is a rare recording of the music played that night.