I can quite honestly say I have never been stoned in my life.
Or at least I could say that.
Now though, I have been stoned. Well and truly “what the fuck is happening” stoned and if I’m honest I am not sure I liked it.
Growing up I shied away from any form of illegal substance as I always thought myself to be quite unlucky, as in if it kills someone, it is likely to be me. I also never really got the appeal.
I think I decided it wasn’t for me after watching a boy I really liked tripping out on some hallucinogenic or another at a rave in the early 90’s. I was a bit of a square in those days and not entirely overwhelmed at the prospect of an illegal rave in the local park where everyone would be ‘off their tits’ on God knows what.
It was fucking awful and that is an understatement.
Looking back now, it is obvious to me that it was probably fucking awful because I wasn’t off my face. It is like being the only sober person at a party. If I had of been off my face I probably wouldn’t have given a shit that everyone else was off their face. Neither would I have noticed the four hundred tonnes of vomit everywhere, the distinct smell of urine and sweat and been witness to some truly incredible behaviour.
Most people say that taking drugs is no more dangerous than being completely intoxicated by alcohol and that may be true, in part. I was once a holiday rep, remember, I have seen and been party to all manner of drink related shenanigans. So I guess, to a certain extent drink can be equally as dangerous.
Having said that, my only fatality during that period was drug related. The classic ‘I think I can fly,’ moment. It couldn’t have ended any worse because as it turns out, you can’t.
I tried cannabis, years ago. It was back when I was a teen and was in resin form, it looked marginally like rabbit poo and was broken up and sprinkled in to a rolled up cigarette, as was the fashion in those days. It wasn’t particularly strong, although I didn’t know that at the time. I failed to see what the fuss was about, if my memory serves me correctly, I just recall us all sitting in a friends flat, watching TV. Every now and then someone would say something ‘funny’ and the whole room would laugh for hours, before it all went quiet again, until the next time. Looking back, I think I must have just got tobacco in my puffs! I really wasn’t feeling it.
When Ivy and I first started seeing each other we talked a bit about our pasts, as you do in any new relationship. He was quite surprised to learn that despite being a holiday rep I had never really been in to drugs. He, on the other hand, as part of his high-flying career with the foreign office had plenty of experience on the subject.
Drugs seem to attract the opposite ends of our society. The top because, well why not? When you have everything what else is there? Where do you get your next buzz from? The bottom because when life is so shit and you have nothing, what the hell have you got to lose? Anything that makes you forget is good isn’t it?
For most of us, it might be something we experiment with but we know it’s not a great idea or a long-term fix and we would rather pay the gas bill so we can watch TV in comfort, than spend 50 quid on a five-minute rollercoaster ride.
Anyway. I did it. I’d like to say Ivy made me do it, but of course he didn’t. I am big enough and ugly enough to make own stupid mistakes and I do often, with absolutely no encouragement.
On one of our dates Ivy suggested, all very casually like, that we might smoke a joint or if I preferred not to smoke, I could have a dope cake? A dope cake! Bloody hell, how do you get someone so wrong?
The image of Ivy, dressed in the pinny I bought him (when he cooks for me I don’t want him burning the meat or veg), making dope cakes was all too much. As it turns out he didn’t bake them, he ordered them in! What? Where the hell from?
So we did it. We had a big, massive, fat joint and I was high as a fucking kite.
I was also very ill at ease with the whole affair, I discovered, a little too late. Had I have been high as a kite with a friend, listening to music and eating a jumbo bag of popcorn, all washed down by the River Ouse, I think all would have been well, but I was with Ivy and this was not going to go well.
I worried a lot, for most of the evening, when I wasn’t worrying I was laughing, at what I don’t know and when I wasn’t laughing I was asking ridiculous questions or complaining about how thristy I was, or talking to Hula (the Japanese beagle), about where we should put the remote control for the TV. All the while I was actually trying not to talk, at all.
At one point I remember lying on the bed like Daisy the cow, with what felt like an oversized tongue and a thirst that could drain a lake, in a time vacuum, inanely repeating myself, laughing at myself for repeating myself and repeating myself all over again. I was confused at the time. In an almost surreal way I kept ‘coming to’ with a feeling that I had been there forever and at one point I was convinced it was the following day. “Have I been here all weekend,” I said. Apparently not, I had been there an hour.
The evening didn’t pan out how either of us expected it to.
Countless slices of buttered toast and four mugs of very sugary tea later, (I never drink tea) I was still feeling slightly stupid and a tiny bit mortified about what I can only imagine was very uncool behaviour.
When I saw Ivy next. I told him that I felt as if I should do it again.
Why I felt like that I couldn’t really make out, I think it was because I didn’t do it justice, I didn’t let it do whatever it was it was supposed to be doing, I tried in my controlling way to control it. Trying to stop it, almost as if it was going to make me say things I might not ordinarily say or behave in a way that I might afterwards find slightly embarrassing. I was absolutely shit scared the whole time that I might say something nice to Ivy. You know like ‘I love you’ or some such shit. It was petrifying.
The reality is I couldn’t control it, not properly, I was completely aware that I was behaving like a buffoon, but even as I was aware of it, I couldn’t stop myself and when I tried I just went in to a trance like state staring off in to the distance, trying to focus on a pot plant or a chair, in an effort to stop my brain from communicating with my mouth.
We tried having sex and that didn’t go particularly well either. Weird floating sensations and my need to keep talking shit not entirely conducive to lovemaking, or to any kind of bedroom play really, unless you count board games.
He just looked at me and with a poker straight face and said, “Not with me you’re not.”
I can’t believe he didn’t enjoy it! 😂
I laughed at how someone who is not unfamiliar with the herb can be so insanely serious all the time.
This actually happened some time ago. I have had this blog pending for some time, while I decided whether I should or shouldn’t publish. Anything I am unsure off, usually gets proof read by the buddies… who then say.. NO! You can’t say that, but after careful consideration, here it is.
So, do I have any advice on this subject? Not really, no. No pearls of wisdom or stark warnings here I’m afraid.
The only thing I would say is…
If you haven’t ever been tempted to try cannabis and you have arrived at a time in your life where having a glass of wine takes you on a trip to utopia, I wouldn’t add it to your bucket list.