Andy Richardson: When the freaks come out, it's really time to call it a night
The Prodigy's Liam Howlett recorded his band's new album between the hours of 6pm and 4am. Like a Tesco nightshift worker, he'd clock into his Essex studio just as people were leaving for work. Then, after a hard day's night, he'd clock-off in the middle of the night.
"I kinda liked the idea that on the other side of the studio windows, all the normal people were safely in bed – the only people still up were me and the freaks . . ."
A recent late-night journey home from the south coast helped me understand those words. It was, as Liam says, 'just me and the freaks'.
I'd enjoyed a night out near Brighton and the time came to leave. Within a minute of being on the road, I encountered the blue flashing lights of emergency crews. They'd been called to help a couple who'd driven into Waitrose.
Giving a new meaning to click and collect, the septuagenarians had driven their little red car straight through the front windows. The night duty manager found them parked near the fruit section. They had quite literally gone bananas.
Happily, the couple emerged unscathed from their ordeal. Paramedics thought it wise not to tell them about the drive-thru at the nearby McDonalds, in case they attempted something really silly . . .
My journey was due to take me to Wales, where I was meeting a friend the following day.
I was over-nighting at the halfway point in Newbury. My satav however, had different ideas.
Despite punching in the correct code – and, yes, I did check it three times – the device thought it would be funnier to direct me to Reading.
And so at 11.30pm, I found myself driving round the dodgy streets of a town with more takeaways and night-owls than Whitmore Reans.
Arriving in a new-build cul-de-sac, where the Newbury Travelodge was conspicuous by its absence, I switched off the engine and resorted to fail-safe 20th century technology: a map.
What neither sat nav nor the map had told me, however, was that my car was parked in a road which I assume is colloquially known as 'Dogger's Alley'. And we're not talking Crufts. Woof. Woof.
Within a minute, a man in his mid-20s was striding purposefully towards me with eyes that spelled 'danger'. He stopped level with the passenger's side window, looked me straight in the eye, moved his hands to his trousers and, erm, I tell you what . . . there's no need for me to describe what happened next, I'm still recovering from the trauma.
Suffice to say, I didn't stick around for the conclusion. In those dark few seconds, I learnt that my little blue Clio has the acceleration of a Ferrari when things get rough. Dogger's Alley still bears the scars from that sorry night. There are scorch marks from the wheel-spinning tyres as I made a sharp exit.
In recent weeks, I've taken the precaution of travelling with a spare sat nav – just in case I'm led up a garden path by the out-of-date device that I've rechristened DoggerNav.
And I've also set myself a new curfew: I no longer leave the house after 6.30pm, locking all windows and doors and refusing to visit Waitrose – in case I get run over.
My friend in Wales didn't believe my tale of woe. The bit about the old couple driving into Waitrose and the late night flasher were dismissed as lunacy.
But I'd like to think that if I'd have told The Prodigy's Liam Howlett about my ordeal, he might have been more sympathetic.
As the Essex Firestarter says, night time is for the freaks.
