Monday, July 05, 2010

A little schmoke.

So let's just say that in the past the odd drug has been consumed, the odd, say, joint or whatever, and in that dim and distant past when the odd drug was possibly being consumed, to background music of something incredibly hip and cool and possibly even, er, psychedelic, one inhaled, and that one enjoyed to the full, the effects of the odd drug or two. No big deal. (in fact probably less than £4 for a small bag of weed, man -ha ha). And possibly stuff in tablet form. Or on blotting paper. Say.

And let's just say that some considerable time later we're in Amsterdam and have just had a spectacular dinner in one the city's fine restaurants and afterwards are strolling through the warm evening, passing by the many cannabis cafes which make the city so colourful and one has a conversation with one's partner and it is agreed to, ahem, try one out. And so one finds oneself at a counter buying a small, ready rolled joint, of the weaker variety, for 4 euros and then sat outside, talking to a charming American businessman who has his own pipe, and we take a blast or two, constantly borrowing the American's lighter to relight our little rollup, and within a few seconds are enjoying a merry little buzz. A slight feeling of light headed-ness. Good, huh?

And then let's just say that one takes off like a fucking rocket, that one just has time to think WTF WAS THAT? before slumping down into the chair to listen to the 3D music drifting out from the cafe, to watch, slack-jawed, illuminated taxis passing and people who are actually taking photographs of you, and trying to remember ever taking anything this strong, and that if this is the weak one, WTF is in the others? And a whole jumble of other thoughts, now inconsequential but terribly important and lucid at the time.

And then suppose one's partner, who seems wholly unaffected by the thing, possibly because she's been taking girly little puffs and not inhaling, instead of the expert method, sucking the very life out it and holding the schmoke inside for a minute or two, gets concerned and next thing a staff member, employed to look after the unwell, arrives with a glass of sugared water, and a kind expression which says 'there there. it happens to everyone who takes it for the first time' and suddenly you're being treated like an invalid, with the American, who turns out to be a nurse back home, taking your pulse and feeling your cold, sweaty forehead, and all you're trying to communicate is that you're out of your tiny mind, and the partner is suggesting a taxi and you know you can barely sit never mind stand, just for the moment, and the more you are unable to respond the worse it gets until you take a chance and STAND UP and the taxi (a multicoloured blur) whisks you back to your doorstep and you get inside and CHUCK UP in a projectile manner that can only be described as proof positive of the Billy Connolly theory that we all have cubed carrots slipped into our food somewhere every day and then slip into a DEEP SLEEP for several hourzzzzzzzzzz.............................

Well, that would be a terrible thing, wouldn't it?
And a warning: