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I remember when I got my goldfish at the funfair. 

I was eight years old at the time and the joy that the gold fish brought to my life was immense. However, on the ride home, the way that poor thing moved around in that cheap transparent plastic bag, in that confined space, made me feel so guilty. 

I named my goldfish Brian, after no one in particular. Me and Brian weren't friends for long, but it was enough time for us to have a secret language. So when I set it free in the park, that same afternoon, Brian said 'Thank You', and I understood. 

But this ain't a story about a goldfish named Brian, in fact, I'm not even sure why I started talking about Brian in the first place. Perhaps it's because he appeared in one of the many trips I had last night. 

All I'm sure of is that I'm lying here, the floor is covered in green and silver Rowntree's Fruit Pastilles wrappers because that is one of the only things we ingested for the past month. One hundred and forty - seven f*****g Fruit Pastilles rolls, we counted them. Fourteen in each pack, that makes two thousand and fifty-eight Fruit Pastilles. And we still have three packs hidden in the car. 

I'm smiling like an idiot and I'm not even sorry: I'm still able to do Math after all the LSD we took last night. 

If they were to give it a name, it would have to be something to do with peace, love and friendships, because that's really what this summer was all about. Maybe some sort of 'extended summer' because for me, everything started in April 1967. 

I should probably apologise to my father, for not being like the others. But f**k that…I went to university because he told me to. My mum, a sweet darling, could only agree to the decisions he took, and even though she knew exactly what kind of person I was, they sent me off to college anyways. 

All straight 80s and 90s; I only lasted six months. 

I'm sorry to say, but Brown really wasn't for me, and neither was sitting in a room learning about Mathematics all day long. I felt so trapped, just like Brian would've felt if I brought him home with me. 

I kept seeing those shimmering lights, and I kept waiting for someone to free me, just like I freed Brian. Six months of agony went by before I finally realised that I was only going to save myself from that s**t. 

After sleepless nights listening to 'Sittin' on a Fence' on repeat, Mick Jagger was damn right. I decided it was time for me to rent the room I was currently staying in and pack my life in a bag. Again. 

So I kept the money my parents were putting in my bank account each month and instead of paying the fees, I bought a car. A blue Ford Mustang GT 500. A jewel, my jewel. 2000 dollars and I even got to paint two white stripes on the hood! Man, me and that car…All around the states! 

I left New York in April 1967, drove all the way through Carolina, through Georgia, ended up in Houston in late May. Then San Antonio, up and through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and eventually ended up in San Francisco. 

I met the most beautiful people, loved the most beautiful girl. Sang until my throat caught flame, learnt how to braid flowers into people's hair. And so many other stories that I don't want to spoil just yet. 

And it feels like all of it has lead up to this moment right here, where I'm lying on the floor, not giving a damn about the fact that I'm surrounded by candy wrappers. Because I'm watching the sun rise over Haight Ashbury, remembering my fantastic summer. And I owe it all to my blue Ford Mustang GT 500. 

Oh, and are you wondering what my plate number is? 

Twelve. Forty-nine. Twenty-one.