I’ve been going to clubs and festivals ever since I could get into them, and in those 17 years, I’ve always managed to stay safe. I’ve had some pretty wild days and nights out but I’ve nearly always been fully cognisant of what was happening around me, even when left of sober.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a daytime festival held on the St Kilda foreshore. On arrival, my two girlfriends and I found ourselves surrounded by thousands of much younger punters, as tends to be the case these days (I’m 34).

A few hours and a few cocktails later, a young man, maybe 24, started chatting to us. I think his name was Joe, he was British and he was infatuated with one of my friends. He was clearly wasted and it seemed like more than drunkenness. He was funny though, and as he told us about getting dumped by his girlfriend the week prior and surviving testicular cancer (he also, unprompted, showed us his scar) we even felt a little sorry for him.

The author had her drink spiked at a daytime festival in St Kilda. Credit:Josh Robenstone

We were soon joined by a few of his friends, including his brother. While chatting to Joe, I looked away for a second and felt something small plop into my drink. It was so barely perceptible I probably would have shrugged it off as imagination if it weren't for the person standing behind me.