Yesterday, the BBC reported: “Long queues have been seen as the world’s first state-licensed marijuana industry opened for business in the US state of Colorado… Washington state has also legalised cannabis and is expected to allow the drug’s sale later this year.”
People think I am a bit odd if I mention I have never knowingly taken recreational drugs.
I have nothing at all against people taking marijuana in any form though I think, maybe, I would not want my airline pilot, bus driver or the person overtaking me at 90mph on the motorway (with or without a car) to be totally zonked out of their head.
I think I may have had hash cakes a couple of times without realising it – and without any discernible effect. But I have worked with people who have clearly been taking too much hash for too many years.
I once worked for a TV company where the man in charge of the department found, on a Friday morning, that we were unexpectedly very understaffed due to illness. He spent three hours – three rambling hours – telling us how we were going to re-arrange things to get through the increased workload. I could have killed him but, alas, I was not drunk so had no real excuse.
The only drugs that ever attracted me were heroin and LSD. Neither were available to me when I would have taken them and, by the time they were easily available, I had met smack and acid casualties.
Well, that is not altogether true.
I never took LSD because I thought it might push me over some nearby psychological ledge and I would never be able to get back again.
By the time heroin was available, I had already tried suicide and that had not worked.
I was never interested in marijuana because I never smoked nicotine (so the actual smoking technique was a mystery to me).
I do not smoke nicotine because, when I was about six years old, I asked my father: ”Daddy, can I have a puff of your cigarette?”
And he said: “Yes.”
I was appallingly nauseous.
I never wanted to smoke again and did not.
The attraction to other people of marijuana seemed to be that it had the same relaxing, uninteresting-to-me effect as drink – though without the bad side-effects of excessive drink like wild, mindless aggression, vomiting and splitting headaches.
It never seemed to me that getting drunk and then proudly saying the next day: “I can’t remember anything I did last night,” was a good life choice. If I want to get so drunk I can’t control my own body and start falling down in the street and/or losing consciousness because my brain has closed itself down to avoid further damage, I might as well get into a boxing ring with a psychopath and get him to repeatedly punch me in the head until I become unconsciousness.
People seem to drink to lower their inhibitions, so that they feel free-er to do or say what they want and, if it goes wrong, they can blame the drink. I think I was always prepared to do or say what I wanted without having to have excuses.
Although that is, perhaps, not good career advice.
People think I am bizarre – they really do – because, except on special occasions when it would be rude not to, I do not drink alcohol or spirits.
I had some mulled wine with a couple of meals over the Christmas period. The last time I drank before that was probably last Christmas.
When I tell people I do not drink, they assume I am an ex-alcoholic.
In fact, it is because I never enjoyed it.
In my teens and early twenties, I used to drink small amounts of lager to be sociable because it had a more bland taste than other beers. I never actively enjoyed drinking it.
I only ever really enjoy vodka drowned in orange juice and champagne drowned in orange juice.
Nothing else grabs my taste buds.
Also, in my late twenties, I encountered two people.
One was the Press Officer for a film distribution company. He had obviously been very bright and intelligent in his youth. Now he was in his mid-forties and I guess had been drinking socially and doggedly for professional reasons for about 20 years. His mind was doolally.
The other was someone I had worked with in a broadcast TV company. We then ended up working at the same Soho TV facility production company AND with him living in my flat weekdays for about six months.
He was highly intelligent. After graduating from Oxford University, he had been talent-spotted and trained by Granada TV. He used to sit and watch University Challenge and effortlessly answer about half the questions, almost without thinking.
But he had been drinking solidly, like the film PR man, for about 20 or 25 years.
He used to drink wine at lunchtime in Soho. Then, after work, he would have a few pints of beer. Then he would come home and drink spirits.
I was still drinking at this point – though only small amounts of lager after work.
I stopped drinking altogether because of him.
His brain – though still able to function at work and answer University Challenge questions – had been damaged.
He would start a sentence, then stop in the middle, drift off and start doing or saying something else, never completing his original sentence or thought process.
I did not want to be like him in 20 or 25 years time.
The irony is that now I have a shit memory. And I witter.
But then I always did.
As far as I remember.
Irony. Don’t talk to me about irony.