Claire Wyburn took her first E in 1991, a decision that dramatically improved her career. One fateful weekend she went to Aberdeen for an illegal all-nighter; the dance floor collapsed and the – ahem – promoters vanished, rumour has it, to Jamaica. Claire got so wrecked, she turned up for work as a Junior Reporter for free local rag, The Ayr Leader, four days late. She was fired on the spot. But Claire knew she was destined for better things. She became Clubs Editor of Scotland’s then highbrow indie music magazine, M8, changing it into a streetwise rave ‘zine, and later doubling its circulation as Editor. In 1997, she re-located to Brixton, London, to edit England’s respected underground music mag, Wax. By 2002 Claire was all raved out and wanted to sleep for a thousand years, aka Sleeping Beauty. Besides, what else can you do when you’re sick of your dream job? “Aaaah, I will become a novelist and lounge around all day in my nightie!” She concluded, thinking this was the easy option. Sadly, her hedonistic lifestyle left her lacking one important skill: discipline. So she had to go back to work, as Assitant Editor of another youth title, 18-30’s Melt, but she plans to leave this September to add the finishing touches to that same first novel, Deadbeat…

CLAIRE'S FAVOURITE BOOKS:

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‘I WAS A MATE OF RONNIE LAING’ by Anne McManus

"Charlie is a punky, anarchic, cynical twisted alcoholic bitch. Fantastic! I was blown away by the anger and the rhythm of this novel."

Click image for a review of the book on the Barcelona Review website or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘12 BAR BLUES’ by Patrick Neate

"I could hear the pain and pleasure Lick Holden blew out of his trumpet. Even though I was reading words, not listening to music."

Click image to visit Patrick Neate's official website; for Neate's Top 10 Hip-Hop Books on the Guardian Unlimited site, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘MORVERN CALLAR’ by Alan Warner

"Unforgettable first chapter and an equally unforgettable heroine, not to mention portrayal of Club 18-30 type holidays."

Click image to read Alan Warner's Bold Type interview on the Random House website; for Charles Taylor's review of the book on the Salon.com website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘ON THE ROAD’ by Jack Kerouac

"It makes you want to travel, be free and only socialise with weirdos and deadbeats."

Click image to visit Patrick Neate's official website; to listen to sound clips of Kerouac reading (and singing) his prose on the Kerouac Speaks site, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘EAST OF ACRE LANE’ by Alex Wheatle

"An insight into how Brixton blacks lived in the days running up to the 1980s riots, and a fantastic read!"

Click image to read G Parker's interview with Wheatle on the Reggae Zine website; for a biography and interview with Wheatle on the Ark Mast website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘THE SCHOLAR’ by Courttia Newland

"Melancholic tale of drum and bass lovers Cory and Sean, teenage black boys who are confronted with the sort of choices so many of London’s poorer black communities face. And some really graphic, edge-of-your seat fights."

Click image to read Richard Marshall's 3AM magazine interview with Newland; to visit Urban Factor, Newland's official website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘BETTING ON THE MUSE’ by Charles Bukowski

"Beautiful and sad selection of poetry and prose."

Click image to visit Buk's Page on Real Beer.com; for a biography and a selection of Bukowski's poems on The Beat Page, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘THE GREAT GATSBY’ by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Needs no comment."

Click image to visit the Guide to The Great Gatsby website; to visit the F. Scott Fitzgerald Society website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘HOW LATE IT WAS, HOW LATE’ by James Kelman

"Pure dead brilliant!"

Click image to read an extract from the book on the Random House Bold Type website; to read Fabio Vericat's interview with Kelman on the Barcelona Review website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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‘MARIBOU STORK NIGHTMARES’ by Irvine Welsh

"Disgusting rape scene, yet you still manage to feel sorry for the abused, unloved and f**ked up Roy Strang."

Click image to read Alexander Laurence's interview with Welsh on the Free Williamsburg website; to visit Welsh's official website, click here or to order the book on Amazon, click here

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WHAT MAKES CLAIRE'S WORLD GO ROUND:

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"Up-to-date info on free parties, house music news and chilled out philosophy from Barefoot Doctor. More underground than www.gurn.net and with a twisted sense of humour that’ll have you chuckling away at your desk, no matter how boring your job is."

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"The editors, which include psychedelic traveler Daniel Pinchbeck (author of the excellent ‘Cracking Open The Head’), are dedicated to “poetry and prose with a daring, useful spirit”. "

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"All the best dance events around the world can be found here, most free of corporate sponsorship. You feel part of an international clubbing community and there’s some great pics of people having it, big style."

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SOULFUL KINDA MUSIC

"Features the finest British northern soul all-nighters, artist discographies and a fantastic beginner’s guide to buying true northern soul."

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"Terence McKenna and other luminaries talking about the substances that open your doors of perception, send you loopy, make you see God, turn you into a circle… oh loads of mind boggling theories."

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KILL YOUR SPEED
by Clare Wyburn

I was going tae get there or get killed. Oh aye. I hadn’ae missed a Fubar rave in two whole years and I wasn’ae about tae start the now.

Key in lock?

No.

Now?

No. Oh for God’s sake, girl, try again. Now? Oh Hayzie, yer a daft cow, so ye are.

Think.

Look at your right hand - go on!

No there isn’ae two of them. Try again. You can feel which one it is.

Aye, that’s the one.

Key in lock? No - wait a minute, yes!

Yes yes yes.

Ya dancer!

Now get in. Shut door. Get speed out of glove compartment. Snort self sober. Good plan or what?

I’m making the evil eye at masel in ma rear view mirror, applying more lippy. Red = dangerous lips. Big red luscious exotic erotic smackarooooos babeeeeee!

Brush the hair. No, not the cheeks ya daft bint -the HAIR the hair the hair.

Got tae look sexy as…like a Hollywood babe, when I’ve got a long drive ahead of me. I love turning the beats up, opening up ma Mercedes sunroof, putting ma foot on the accelerator and moving it some to ma destination, with the wind blowing ma pure gorgeous blonde locks all over the shop.

Okay, so the only Mercedes I’ve got are the wee round pills stashed in ma glove compartment, I have’nae got the money tae do ma roots, and I have tae wind down the window of ma clapped out forth-hand Ford Fiesta, but there’s no point in having an open-topped car in the West Coast of Scotland, is there?

Anyway, it’s the same fast driving buzz, if you’ve got a bit of imagination and some top tunes. Aye, the stereo’s broken but ma music’s portable.

Now where have I put it?

Ah here we go.

Stick on headphones.

No dinnae play it the now Hayzie, wait ‘till you’ve powdered yer nose.

Concentrate.

Find handbag. Get out note. Roll it. Open compact, prepare speed. Snort it. Two mothers, straight off the mirror. Ouch!

Time tae put on the gabba, I’m the fuck you man by Human Resource drums intae ma lobes.

Start her up.

“Go on baby, exert yersel, take me to the rave!” I wind ma window right down tae the bottom.

Wind rushes in, pushing ma hair back. This is the life!

Ma vision clears. I see everything in minute detail, in slow mo, like I’m Arnie Schwartzie in Terminator. Sorted. The speed’s sobered me right up.

I push harder on the accelerator, as far down as it can go, crank up the volume on ma personal stereo and start over-taking these boring wankers who have tae stick tae the measly speed limit. I mean, some of them are going so slow, I have tae over take them on the inside lane.

Arseholes.

If I had the kind’a motors they drive, like, check the posh bitch I’m passing the now. Wrinkled old crow in her Golf GTI doing 30 miles per hour. If I had that motor, well, I’d be at the Fubar the now.

Flash flash flash. Flashity flash flash…something’s flickering out the corner of ma eye - what is it?

Time tae do some serious checking of the rear view mirror.

Oh fuck.

It’s the pigs.

Click off Walkman - fast. Aye. The siren’s pure wailing top volume right enough. Dinnae panic, keep calm, slow down, pull over.

Chewing gum? Glove compartment. ‘Moan girl, get a grip.

Shove intae mouth, quick smart, as much as can, breathe the peppermint, honey bunny.

Ma breath’s stinking of Stella. How much had I had? I pure dinnae have a Scooby Doo. Got intae pub at lunchtime-ish, started drinking pints with Peter and them. They were watching the footie. I couldn’ae give a fuck about football, but it’s a good excuse to get wrecked. Celtic and Rangers, dinnae know who won, too drunk tae remember.

“Get out the car, lass.” He’s young - about 22 with raver’s cheeks, all dead gaunt and sucked in.

But his partner’s a bloated bastard and he’s coming over all Jehovah on me the now. “Show us your license.”

Ma tongue aches with the strain of sticking five wods of gum tae the roof of ma mouth. “It’s in the car.”

“Well get it, then.”

“But you just asked me tae get out.”

“I wouldn’ae start geein’ us the lip, hen. Youse were driving like a maniac doon this said road and youse’ll be lucky to keep yer license,” Flabby Cheeks says.

It’s time tae change tactics. I dinnae want them to breathalyse me or I’m well scunnered.

I open the glove compartment; push ma stash intae the far corner, behind ma brush and ma CDs and that, and bring out ma crumpled license.

“Here ya go officer. Was I really drivin’ that badly?” Flutter eyelashes, Hayzie. No, wait - too obvious.

“I wid say that Flash Gordon would’a had problems over taking you the night,” Gaunt One pipes up, the wee makings of a grin on his lips.

He’s the one to home in on. “I didn’ae mean tae. I’m really sorry. I didn’ae think. I was trying tae get tae airport in time!” I take a deep sigh, will the tears up. Easy like Sunday morning. “I was in such a panic. I’m late tae pick up ma mum and dad, back fae their second honeymoon. Ma dad, he leant me the motor while they was gone. I’ve only just passed ma test and I guess I got a bit too excited and ma dad’ll go pure ape wi’ me if I lose ma license, please dinnae make ma dad go mad wi’ me.”

I’m looking at their faces going all bewildered, that must be a good thing. “Oh I pure hope they saved their marriage. Dinnae know what I’d do if they split up forever. They’re made for each other, kind’a like fish and chips, know what I mean?”

Shut it, Hayzie, you’re speed ranting. Go for some out and out sobbing.

Thank fuck I’m wearing waterproof mascara! I bend down a bit, just enough to show some of ma impressive cleavage coming out of ma discotastic halter-neck top and that finally breaks Flabby Cheeks.

“Auch, it’s okay doll, calm doon.” He places thick arms across ma shoulders, draws me close.

Dinnae get me wrong, but. He will’nae be getting it -lard arse. I can smell his Cheesy Wotsits underarm sweat the now. Yuk!

The Stella starts swirling in ma gut. Oh don’t boke baby, no now. Hold it down. “I’m so sorry.” I whimper, hoping I sound all dead fragile.

“You made three big mistakes the night Miss,” Gaunt Cheeks comes over and snatches ma license off of Flabby Cheeks, “Hayley Robertson. First up, youse were doing eighty miles an hour on a thirty mile limit, second, youse over-took us on the INSIDE lane, and third, well yer no supposed tae drive wi’ yer fuckin’ personal stereo on!” He shouts, Sergeant Major style. Makes me startle like a deer caught in headlights.

I clock his eyes. They’re wee black pins. Defo on the whiz, takes one tae know one.

He’s shaking his bullet head at me the now. “Go on, take yer license, dry yer eyes and get tae the airport.”

“Auch, no so fast, John, eh?” Flabby Cheeks says, porky fingers groping ma thighs.

“Thanks for giving me this other chance, officers! I promise I’ll be more careful in future and I’ll stick tae the speed limit.” I squirm out of Flabby’s hold, retreat back towards ma motor, ma haven.

“I said no so fast.” Flabby Cheeks’ breath is on ma neck.

“Let her go, Gavin.”

“She’s goat te be telt.”

“We’ve telt her, ‘moan.”

Flabby Cheeks grabs ma arms and twirls me round like I’m some third-rate ballerina. He looks at me dead mean. I freeze up, except for ma heart -it’s going haywire.

His damp fingers grasp ma cheeks, the pressure’s pure ruining ma foundation and I’m right next tae his sagging jowls, flapping about like a hamster’s pouch. “Just remember that you owe me a favour, hen,” he says.

“Aye.” I’m no driving alone in Greenock again, no matter how tasty ma mum’s Saturday fish suppers are. “See you then. And thanks again lads, you’re a pair of lifesavers.”

“See youse, hen.” Gaunty sniggers. I scrunch ma eyes the gether tae avoid pure glaring at him. Dive intae ma car quick smart.

I drive off slowly, lighting up a Regal once I cannae see them in ma rear view mirror anymore.

Jesus fucking Christ almighty Hayzie that was close.

Anyway what did that lecherous fat piggy bastard and his junky colleague know? Ma first mistake was drinking seven pints of Stella, ma second mistake was snorting two mothers and ma third mistake, well, ma third fucking mistake is necking one of they Mercedes from the glove compartment. Cos that’s what I’m about tae do.

I need it tae calm ma nerves and bring me down a bit off of the speed. Sides I’m off tae the Fubar and by the time it kicks in, I’ll be there.

I live for that place. Hardcore will never die.

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'DEAD BEAT' - Synopsis

The rave scene is dying, the music moving into the mainstream, however, Hayzie and her friends can’t let go. In fact, all Hayzie can do is think about the past, when she was a smartly turned out office worker, living with her boss’s son, Calum. She introduced him to rave culture and Ecstasy, transforming him from a snobbish and arrogant rugby fan into a music loving pillhead. In return, he persuaded the company to pay for her legal secretarial classes and dreamt of using his law degree to improve the world. But after a few years, the relationship turned into a destructive one: she encourages him to take more drugs and he gets her into heavy boozing. A series of disasters see Hayzie out of a job and Calum doing a runner to London. Meanwhile Hayzie, bitter and rejected, ends up living in a rundown housing scheme in Glasgow, with best mate Senga. Out of the blue, Calum phones her with a lucrative job offer in London, with one condition: that she leaves her mates behind. Senga, who has always dreamt of moving to the capital, is gutted when Hayzie breaks the news. She leaves without the blessing of her old rave pals. When she arrives in Notting Hill, she discovers that Calum has changed: he’s engaged to the kind of girl his dad would approve of and is set to return to Glasgow and take over the family business, due to Mr Balsner’s ill health. Nevertheless, the attraction’s still there and they end up in bed again. So Hayzie feels betrayed when Calum asks her to move out. She rents a room from an eccentric Religious Education teacher, Rod, while she waits for Calum to see sense and cancel the wedding. He doesn’t. Devastated, she tells everything to Rod, just before having sex with him. Hayzie wakes up the next morning disgusted with herself. She immediately packs up and leaves for digs in Brixton. What she doesn’t anticipate, though, is Rod’s revenge. Jobless again with no second chances, all Hayzie can see ahead of her is a life of disgusting London bedsits, alternating between the dole and shit jobs. The only pleasure she has left is a seedy dive, The Junction. It’s here that she meets black DJ, Fox. She’s fascinated by him: his music, art, colour, cooking and the squat where he lives. Fox brings Hayzie out of her gabba devil hallucinations and nostalgia, just as Calum comes back into her life, announcing that he stood his fiancé up at the alter. Hayzie is faced with yet another life-changing choice: stay poor and jobless in London with Fox, or return to Glasgow for respectability at last, with a man she still loves despite all his faults. It’s a choice that forces Hayzie to finally grow up and accept who she really is.

© Claire Wyburn
Reproduced with permission

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SONGS THAT HAVE CHANGED CLAIRE'S LIFE

'PROMISED LAND' - Joe Smooth - “We’ll walk, hand in hand, sisters, brothers we’ll make it to the promised land.” I understood “God” after dancing to this in a 10,000-strong crowd.

'SOME JUSTICE' - Urban Shakedown - "Sheer physical raw energy that sent my soul out my body and flying into the sky, first time I heard it."

'STRINGS OF LIFE' - Derrick May - "See above."

'ECSTASY' - Shades of Rhythm - "Flirty, sexy number"

'LIVE IN MANCHESTER' - N-Joi - "Seminal hardcore house. Meet the devil."

'THE SANCTUARY' - DJ Oji & Una - "Southport Soul weekender classic that says – no attitudes in a place of worship."

'H.A.P.P.Y. Radio' - Edwin Starr - "Too many people think it’s uncool to be happy. What do they know?"

'PLANET ROCK' - Afrika Bambaataa - "The best house and hip hop fusion record I know of."

'SENSE OF DANGER' - Presence - "Haunting, melancholic love story."

'LOVE WILL BRING US BACK TOGETHER' - Roy Ayers - "Too right!"

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