While at boarding school in the late 1950’s a small group of us practiced Confusionism. We would escape from the school in the middle of the night and ride bicycles some miles to the South Downs. The bike ride was the first important Confusionist ceremonial of the night because, in itself, it provided great opportunity for disorientation.

 

The bikes were lightless, gear less, often without brakes and sometimes with fixed wheels. We hurtled crazily, at speed, through the unlit rural roads and lanes. Unless there was a moon it was indeed very confusing. The Confusionist principle dictated that we should choose a remote, sylvan destination where belladonna grew and that we should carry with us supplies of a fearsome Spanish wine called Tarragona.

 

When we arrived at our woodland glade we would drink the Tarragona and then pick belladonna berries and drop them into the bottles, which had an odd, medicinal appearance, as they were made of brown ribbed glass. The ride back to school was probably even riskier than the outward journey, though dawn sometimes assisted us with our navigation. We aimed to arrive in time for breakfast; drunk, exhausted, often wet and muddy, and much in need of bacon and eggs and fried bread. The Tarragona bottles, containing their deadly potion, were hidden away and eventually disposed of. Luckily we never invented any further use for their contents and our Confusionist practices never resulted in anyone actually ending up a gonner……

 

 

Anon