Free Rotation is 'that' party you always want to go to. 1,000 people in a stately home, in the middle of the Welsh countryside with music from Juju and Jordash, Dj Bone, Tom Ellis and Tom Demac. Bodytonic's Martin Hewitt reflects on his lost weekend.

It’s 10am on a sunny Sunday in Wales. We’re sitting cross-legged on a lawn outside a mansion listening intently to the weekend’s unofficial survey.

‘If you could get Alex to do anything right now, what would it be?’ The person being quizzed has no idea who Alex is. But it doesn't matter.

They’ve spent the last two days in and amongst a small crowd, in a big house. So has Alex. Whether they’ve run into each other or not, by this point they might as well be old friends.

Needless to say it’s not your average festival scene. But then it’s not really your average festival. Arguably, it’s not even a festival at all.

Our journey- scheduled as three and a half hours- had lasted around a quarter of a day. It might have been the Little Chef stop off, but it felt more like it was the driving, confused, back and forth across the Welsh border trying to find the venue that added the extra hours. Whatever the case it was a relief to finally find Baskerville Hall at all, but not least because memories of our last lost weekend there hadn’t been wrong.

The fallen grandeur of Freerotation’s established home is something of a gem in itself. A neo-gothic marvel in the rural idyll of Clyro, the imposing double staircase and mezzanine level in the entrance hall are as stunning as the view at 3pm across the surrounding hills. Suffice to say this is far from where you might expect to find a three-day techno ho-down going on, but then that’s all part of the idea.

With our bearings well and truly found, the bang of kick drums and the hiss of balloons hanging in the air things finally got going, making it clear the direction we were heading in. Drilling, four to the floor rhythms may not be everyone’s cup of tea for a triple-header, but the fashionista-cum-free party attendees that made up the ticket holders were, in the majority, far from complaining.

Musical range to one side, it’s not hard to understand such satisfaction. The main room was pouring with smoke for much of the weekend, similarly the baking hot air in the second room- resembling a large lounge overlooking the grounds- hung heavy with sweat. Both are usually testament to a quality party.

2010’s new arrival was a dedicated outdoor tent, which provided grooves in welcome contrast to the seriousness of the indoor soundtrack. Highlights included Tom Ellis’ innovative afternoon live set- cowbells, guitars and all; Tom Demac’s chuggy tech as things wound down on the Sunday night and the strolling house music of Saturday’s late evening warm ups, when things rarely altered from a sound synonymous with summertime garden parties.

Indoors things stayed heads down and more chin-strokingly deep but tough. A huge European contingent ranged from the poorly programmed Move D- who’s rolling house shuffle wasn’t enough to engage the heart and soul on a weary Sunday night- to the excellent, electro inspired Juju & Jordash who, coincidentally, also helped close proceedings in a main room which was, by then, filled with madmen.

Elsewhere DJ Bone arrived on the decks to rapturous applause and more than a few cries of ‘Deeetroit’. The result was a paint-stripping set of leathering techno, making for the most bizarre Sunday morning breakfast we’ve ever had (though far from the worst). As physical a DJ as you could ask for, the cuts, stabs and beat juggles served as an epiphany of traditional turntablism when compared to contemporary DJing.

Spatial’s acid-house-cum-garage, F’s dubstep-not-dubstep, the punchy and addictive Motor City drums of Myles Serge and the Wolf & Lamb house of Jackmate were also highlights, though lasting memories from the event will no doubt be what happened off-screen. The music may be over by 8am each morning, but by Sunday night many people hadn’t slept in two days, including one of the alarmingly friendly bouncers who continued to look on in bemusement as pupils dilated, roofs were scaled and Banana costumes were donned for fancy dress.

Countless hotel room parties within the Hall went on all day and night, and the campsite action was blessed by good weather meaning distractions were plentiful. 1,000 people had tickets, so running into that guy from last night was near enough guaranteed, while spending four hours talking tracks in his crew’s room was a given. A far cry from the usual faceless 50,000.

Sitting in a pub in rural Shropshire on the Monday afternoon and things finally become clear. We all feel sick, our driver is falling asleep, the last 72 hours are very hazy and our heads ring with the sound of whistles, repetitive drum loops and hysterical laughter.

As intimate as you could ask for, it really is the country’s best house party. Just don’t ask us for invites to next year- we’ve got a waiting list as long as our drive home.