It was the 14th year for the Secret Garden Party, the birthplace and spiritual home of Guerilla Science. With ceaseless sunshine and a sizzling programme of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll, we smashed it, if I do say so myself. All beneath a giant vagina surrounded by a garden of pubic hair made from bicycle tires. Science in a field full of bags of narcotics, sound systems and naked people? Parfait.