Yesterday, it was reported that the government’s former ‘drug tsar’ – the interestingly-named Professor David Nutt – was suggesting that “a clinical trial of ‘magic mushroom therapy’ could take place in the UK within a year following two ground-breaking studies” which seem to show that the hallucinogenic active ingredient in magic mushrooms can help the treatment of serious depression.
Well, it might not make people actively happy, but I would think it is a racing certainty that a dose of hallucinogenic mushrooms would tend to take the person’s mind off whatever was depressing him/her in the first place. There’s nothing like fifteen goblins armed with antelopes emerging from a banana to distract you from what you thought were your previous troubles.
Yesterday was not quite that interesting for me but had increasing levels of unexpectedness. My blog yesterday morning was titled Guess The Name of the Comedian and the clue was that the un-named comic “does just sometimes use prostitutes. Mostly in Soho”. Interestingly, two other comedians suggested the self-same name to me. But they were wrong. This other now-famous TV comic whom they named clearly needs to do something about his image among his peers.
Things got curiouser and curiouser last night. I went to Oli and Janet Bettesworth’s interesting Painted Grin comedy club in a basement in Bethnal Green – a bit like going down Alice’s rabbit hole – where entry is free and they have a free raffle every show with five or six prizes. How does that work? Last night, one of the acts gave money away to the audience. How does that work?
They had six open spot acts last night, five of which were good. The odd thing was that the other act was not funny and failed in every possible way but, strangely, was the most interesting of them all. If he ever figures out what his act, what his schtick, is… he will be fascinating to watch. I think I am quite good at talent spotting. There was talent in his eyes and talent in the way he said what he said but, sadly not in what he said.
I did toy with the idea of naming him but, as he was not funny, decided against it.
But it was at this point – in the Painted Grin cellar – that I think my day and reality started to get out of control.
I am trying to give up chocolate. But I had a Crunchie.
When I got home, I went straight to bed.
I rarely remember my dreams but, for some reason (I think a weak bladder which woke me up) last night I did remember. I do.
It was a very long, intricate night. I was in a 21st century British town in which, for a few days, everyone was dressed and behaved as if they were 18th century North American Colonials. Triangular hats. The whole caboodle.
No tea was involved.
Everyone knew they were in a 21st British town and everyone knew they were only role-playing for a limited time.
I have no idea what all this means. All suggestions gratefully received.
Who needs magic mushrooms?