Boy's Own Party: East Grinstead
Jack Barron, New Musical Express, 2 September 1989
BY THE time we got to Grinstead we were... oops! Wrong summer of love...No wallowing in mud here, no bad acid, no teds and no people who would be grateful to be dead. Just some of the highest sounds of the year, most eye-stretching clothes, bluest smiles and... "Jesus, can you believe it?" asked my companion as we slipped from a country lane into the land of the groovy Major Grub for the long-awaited Boy's Own rave.
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