Sunday 12.01am: "I'll give them Cool bloody Britannia," says Anna, as we speed along in car towards Greenwich. "What do they know about Cool? Sad bunch of middle-aged tossers who weren't even cool at university because they were too busy hacking their way through the Labour club." Suggest she goes on Question Time as voice of cool youth. Anna horrified: "An appearance on a late-night discussion programme can seriously damage one's street cred." Large posse of us on way to Millenium Dome where some underground rave-types organising Cool Britannia party with millennial sound systems and specially formulated Es called "Mandies" with a groovy Prince of Darkness logo. Having missed cannabis rally last weekend are eager to do bit to promote youthful rebellion.

12.30am: Stop at petrol station for Rizla, water, chewing gum, etc, but having difficulty making decisions due to overconsumption of drugs. Eg: skins (Rizla or drum, blue or orange, King Size or baby); water (big, could be annoying to carry, might need to wee a lot, or little, could run out); gum (strips or mini-size, red, blue or green or aniseed or ...). "Look!" says garage attendant from behind reinforced-glass hidey-hole. "I can't wait here all night for you lot to make your tiny minds up." Elect Dylan to make Hard Choices. "A litre of strawberry-blue King-size chewing gum," he says politely. Garage man narrows eyes. "Right," he says slowly, "fuck off, the lot of you." D bursts into tears. "Rude Britannia, more like," says Anna.

12.45am: Can't find Dome. Suddenly become concerned that car drifting towards dreaded area of anti-terrorist Ring Of Steel roadblocks, which also have effect of terrorising Nineties clubbers. "Bring back the ceasefire!" says Dylan. Try and explain that in fact there is an IRA ceasefire but that splinter groups of Irish paramilitaries aren't v gd at observing it. "Oh, right," says Dylan. "Like when I say I'm giving up smoking and then, like, I don't - but I sort of have compared to how much gear I was doing before?" Make mental note to prevent D from going on Question Time or indeed any television/radio programme.

1.10am: "Bugger!" shouts Vikram, who is driving. "Which way now? Liverpool St or London Bridge?" Tell him that left fork to Liverpool St definitely leads to Ring of Steel where police definitely waiting to raid car and cart us all off to prison. "Shall I put the bag of speed in my pants?" asks D, helpfully. Tell him to under no circumstances put the speed in his pants but to hand it over to Anna. "Why?" he asks, plaintively. "Because Anna's pants are likely to be clean," tell him.

1.15am: Right fork to London Bridge leading us inexorably towards ... Ring of Steel. Can't see it yet but can feel nasty RoS vibe, and suddenly spot horrid little sentry box complete with slouching copper. "Turn around!" shouts Anna. "But it's a one way street!" protests Vikram. "I would be breaking the highway code." "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" shouts Dylan, who has silly habit of joining in when everyone shouting, like small child.

1.16am: Copper has definitely spotted us. Look round at car passengers - five good-for-nothings with pupils like saucers, and faces drained white with fear. Nothing suspicious there then.

1.17am: Drive towards roadblock and copper motions for car to stop. Feel momentarily relieved that speed is now in Anna's underwear. Vikram winds down window. "Where are you off to, then?" asks Copper. "We're, erm, doing research." I hear my voice saying. "You know, for the government's, erm, Cool Britannia committee. Sampling London nightlife, that sort of thing." Copper looks at us strangely and then nods. "On your way then." As drive away can hear him muttering, "What is this country coming to? Cool bloody Britannia." When swallow Mandies later, say word of silent thanks to Minister without Portfolio.