I was listening to Insomnia by Faithless, and it is one of those songs that bring memories flooding back. About seven years ago, when I was little more than a child, I’d go to the local fairground on Rhyl promenade. It was fairly average fair to look at it, judging by the tightly packed rides: go-karts, merry-go rounds and roller coasters. They would whir around in the bustling sea breeze which coated everything in a salty film.

The crusty gates would peel open for the evening’s trade, with the whole place decked out in lights, which flooded the steady flow of car lights which burgeoned past. Most of the rides were fairly traditional, and old, with flaky paint, and creaky old joints. Originally they were travelling rides, but they’d since lapsed into a long retirement on the cusp of the Irish Sea. The stalls bustled with young life, with stall holders hawking their wares, more often than not sweets and bagged goldfish, suspended from high held hooks, eying the world suspiciously. People were eagerly gathering around to test their skill, and luck, at everything from shooting guns, to shooting hoops, to testing their skill with a fishing rod, the catch being a bobbing plastic duck, which could be exchanged for an animal toy of a fluffier variety. All of these stalls were great, and on nights like this, self proclaimed nights of happy hours, people could try, try again, giving over to the encouragement of eager children, and doting girlfriends.

The bumper cars sat in the centre of the fair, with a metal step leading up, which went thump with heavy foot falls. The boy with the pouch around his waist, jangling with coins, would show you to a car, and give you an offhand warning about not bumping too hard, before giving the car a nudge towards the centre of the ring, where cars were whirring around at full speed. At the edge of the bumper car trailer stood a booth, whose lighting was more subdued than the rest of the place, with a portly woman sunken in the depths of darkness, operating the controls, with a cigarette trailing lazily from her hand. The lights outside would paint a colourful picture on the perspex windows, which occasionally shook with the wind.

Beyond this was a big wheel. One for the kids, and an even bigger wheel for the adults. The pace was laboured, as the wheel lurched up into the clouds, offering a view of the sea front. As the wheel turned back down to earth, the carriages rocked back and forth, peering down at the ground below. Young couples would wander away from the ride, in each other arms, cradling hotdogs like new-borns. Children carried sticks of candy floss as large as their mother’s Saturday night quiff.

Hollywood movie stars peered down from the side of the roller coasters, their eyes as large as car head lamps, and their faces restructured by an artist’s sketchy rendition. One such star was Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was accompanied by his own catch phrase, blurting out of the speakers ‘I’ll be back.’ And of course he was right, because the ride he sat vigil over was the Terminator – the most popular ride of the whole place. You got flung, wrung, and stung as the cars tore through the air, like the arms of a child imitating a helicopter. But what this ride offered was a glimpse of the future. People had been coming to the fair ground for years, and while many of the old rides chugged on, these new attractions were what attracted people time and time again. Long gone were the old sea side music of the accordion, and the sing songs of dapper gentleman in blue striped jackets. The sound systems boomed out hip hop, dub house, trance, and electro music into the salty air. The whole place seemed more alive in the presence of this sound – the lights brighter, the food sweeter, and the people more radiant.

One song which I will never forget, purely for the reason that I heard it so often at the fair, was Insomnia by Faithless. It’s hard to describe, but for anyone who’s heard its rhythmic poundings, it’s difficult to forget. Though the lyrics paint a picture of late night unrest, and even loneliness, the music paints a different picture – one of ecstasy driven bombast, of tearing up the dance floor, and pulling every girl in the room. When I heard that song, I thought it would go on forever.

It gives you that feeling of not quite being awake – in a trance like state, frothing over with the bubbling of imagination. Sadly, the sun was to set on the fairground. The rides deteriorated, and people sort new forms of entertainment. Furthermore, the place became socially unacceptable. The toothless face of a party town which was in decline. So they tore it down. But I still hear the echoes of the music when I walk along the promenade, mixing with the voices of bingo callers, 2p arcade machines, and the incessant, timeless howling of the wind.