Young people who take drugs at music festivals are only victims once they die. Until then they’re criminals, and know it. They will have bought their drugs in a criminal manner, because how else? Perhaps at the festival itself, from a guy of whom they’re a bit scared. Hoping none of those policemen in facepaint are watching. Freezing, guiltily, when they are.
Or perhaps they’ll have bought them outside. How, though, to pack? Drugs in the sponge bag? Buried amid socks? One old trick was to open a Pot Noodle, put them inside, then glue it shut again. Either way, they’ll have been edgy at the railway station when they saw the police and sniffer dogs. “I’d search me,” they’ll be thinking, in their wellies