Bonkers

Saturday night Anders and I worked at another of Brother's rave parties. This one was called Bonkers and was out at Penrith again, at the skate centre.
It was the usual thing - selling glowstix and flashing spiked balls and CDs and t-shirts to the youthful rave brigade - but there were some people there who were noteworthy.
This was a smaller party than the others so half the venue was fenced off, and instead of the DJ booth being up the far end well away from us, it was immediately to our left. It seemed that everybody was almost right in front of us, almost facing us.
First of all, there was a gang of four ravers who caught my attention. I say *gang* because each of them wore yellow dayglo roadworker vests, and written in black texta on the back of each one was this:
H.H.R.C.
BONKERS
2560
I had to find out what the H.H.R.C. stood for. (I guessed that the *2560* was their postcode. Or *zipcode* for my American friends.)
These kids were DEDICATED. Their eyes were blazing with intensity as they focused on the DJ behind the decks. They moved constantly, limbs jerking and shooting out, green glowstix thrust up and out in salute to the pounding electronic beats and squeals and sped-up helium vocals.
One of them shouted, "OLD SCHOOL!" They rocketed the three metres over to the front line of the dancefloor.
They came back, taking a break but still twitching, and a moment later another yelled, "FEEL THE POWER!" and they were off again.
But what did that H.H.R.C. stand for?
When they returned, I called one of them over and asked him.
An enormous proud grin spread across his face and he said, "Hardcore Houso's Ravers Crew!"
"What does *Houso's* mean?" I asked.
"Housing Commission!"
Somehow, don't know how, his grin grew even bigger and I found myself grinning back. He rejoined his Crew.
The second noteworthy *gang*, this time a gang of two, were two girls.
At these parties there is always ONE GIRL who we seem to, uh, obsess upon. One of these two girls was that girl.
She had short peroxide blond hair and wore sunglasses. She was tall - I have an irresistible urge to say *willowy* - which indeed may have been accentuated by the white knee-length platform boots she was wearing. Yes, she was very attractive, but that was not the whole of it. Sitting watching the ravers dancing, she was still, perfectly composed. In a sea of twitching awkward jerking gurning rave kids it was as if Galadriel (as played by Cate Blanchett) from Lord of the Rings had just popped in for a visit.
Then she got up and started dancing. God Almighty never have I been so captivated by a girl dancing. It was as though she were trapped in the coils of a spring, but not really trapped, she had rather trapped the spring and was moving down and around it, smiling all the while, utterly hypnotic. To watch her was to feel something indescribable and overwhelming, something that transcended lust.
On the other hand was her friend. She was attractive too, but her dance? It was the exact opposite of her friend. Does the term *bump and grind* mean anything to you? It was like that. She was grabbing the railing in front of the DJ booth, throwing her other arm out, grinding and thrusting her hips. She was humping the air, grinning like a fiend. Should I have found it sexy? It struck me as thoroughly grotesque.