NIF

What we now call a reality check was known to me and my dope smoking college mates as a 'bring down'; a crusher of vibes, a fracturer of illusions and as we stumbled, lost, gigglesome yet in search of adventure along a seemingly forgotten corridor of the vast gothic building known as the Leicester University recreation block, nothing could have been more inviting than the slightly open door at its end through which, with faces vacantly and gullibly agape, we beheld nothing but a large free-standing film screen on which seemed to be playing a fuzzily sub-titled black and white foreign language horror film.

Wow. Great dope.

Reluctant yet beguiled, we stole softly into the room, easing ourselves submissively down against the wall to the floor in a bedraggled heap, absorbed by this mesmerisingly unfollowable graveyard pictorial for what seemed like hours until a word which looked like 'NIF' appeared upon the screen whereupon we were shaken horribly from our spellbound hallucinated state by the almost deafening outburst of frenzied applause.

We had inadvertently stumbled upon the fire doorway and back entrance to the Leicester University European Film Appreciation Society's monthly showing and, as the sudden burst of house-light shook us, horrified, from our waking slumber, we were cruelly revealed to its hugely appreciative capacity audience.