Raving can be religious. To hear diehards describe it, a packed dancefloor at its exuberant zenith represents a transcendent mix of escapism and ego death. It’s a place where time ceases to exist. The

Who, today, remembers Robert Vas? His Refuge England (1959), a partly autobiographical account of a Hungarian migrant trying to make sense of London—its confusing streets and dizzying profusion of sig

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The King turned up to 11.