Tainted Memories

Let me set the scene here. I’m a (nearly) 44 year old mum of two that has been passionate about house music since a teenager. Trotting my merry little butt up and down the country to various raves and events, following all my favourite artists. I ended up in uni in Manchester where the scene was obviously rich in music nights and not forgetting the legendary Haçienda. One night in there I was happily dancing away with a group of pals that had travelled up to visit for the weekend to revel in the house music glory of Greame Park. Had this creepy guy stalk me all around the dance floor most of the night. He followed us all over the shop. In the end my attitude was very much ahhh f*** it let him perv cos he’s not going to back off. Around ten minutes later, I felt a wet and warm sensation running down the back of my legs. The dirty b******* had masturbated all down the back of my ripped jeans. I kicked off. I got thrown out. As did my friends. I’ve never forgotten. My fondest memories of an iconic place tainted by that. Makes me sick to even remember it. So I stand with your movement. It’s not ok. 

 Oh and I have a young daughter. My days are filled with fear.