» The Onosecond

On the Free Bus!
Y'know these bendy buses, right? More commonly known to me and my social circle as 'the Free Bus' (as it is grotesquely easy to bunk). Well, after a fairly drunken night in central London, my friend, my girlfriend and I were making our way home. Now, the immediate consequences of travelling on the Free Bus are that the lowest strata of society travel too, a whole new league to the general bus weirdos.

So, there we were, when a group of loudmouth cockney harridan slags got on, and literally belted out their inane 'conversation' for the entire length, girth and width of the bus to hear. A bus full of drunk and tired people just wanting to get home.

I, being the wrong side of 6 or 7 pints, and fired up in joker mode due to the missus' presence, decided to imitate their harpie-like shreech, and I intended to yelp out "Shut the fuck up, innit!", just at the right volume, so I could impress my lovely girl, my friend, and the immediate vicinity of the bus, so as to ease the weary irritation my fellow travellers and I were experiencing with a bit of referential humour.

So, without warning, out it came:
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, INNIT!"

Oh no.. A smidge too..

The next thing I know is that I'm hit by a wall of tartslag abuse from halfway down the bus. Threats of a slapping for my girl, a slapping for me, a slapping for my friend, various trips up and down the aise to yell at me face-to-face. At which point I thought 'fuck it', and just yelled back (in my normal - but angry - voice) at them that I was only saying what everyone else was thinking, and kindly asked them to shut their fucking mouths again. Out of the frying pan..

Basically, the torrent of foul abuse continued until our stop, where - emboldened by imminent freedom - I waved through the window and blew a kiss.

Oh no..

Off they got as well, screeching still.

I won't bore you with how it went on, it just gets boring from here anyway, in any case no-one got slapped (except a fairly feeble slap on the back of my head which wasn't worth a response).

Apologies for length, but you secretly love it..
(Wed 1st Jun 2005, 19:20, More)

» Homemade Booze

Blue Nun, or the German equivalent
Blau Nonne, possibly. In any case this was one of my lowest points of student drinking. Picture the scene of a 20 year old shamelessly walking out of a dodgy South London offy, Peckham 2004, with the cheapest/strongest booze his meagre student loan would allow at that point.

So I'd made it home with this wine without being mugged stabbed or shot, so to celebrate I poured myself a glass. It was utterly disgusting stuff, which I expected, but had such a sour aftertaste, like fruity curry farts or rotten citrus fruits (apparently the smell of rotting human corpses), I had to do something.

This was the point that I discovered that sugar does not dissolve in shit white wine (despite vigorous stirring, my wank-hand was strong), nor sweeten its taste, yet forms a glacier at the bottom of a glass, refusing to be involved in this atrocity against God and man.

Dear reader, I still drank it all, despite that first failed attempt at making it more palatable, because I'd paid for it and I'm fucking badass. In the intervening decade, I've drank some horrendous stuff, but none so much as made me actually want to add sugar to make it humanly palatable!
(Fri 12th Dec 2014, 21:29, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

Dexy's Midnight Runners
While I confess to being found in a variety of states after a variety of different substances, one particular episode stands out:

I had met up with a group of friends at our student union one afternoon, with the intention of drinking the time away until a friend of a friend's band was due to play. Now, this particular friend, M, is a bit of a goth, not excessively so - being posessed of a remarkably positive outlook - but knows some absolute space aliens, to put it in the most generous terms..

Anyhoo, said band play (not too brilliantly as I recall), and post-gig drinking ensues, to the point where M made the call for an afterparty at his. Great! More drinking! Let's go! The goth band came too, as did several of their entourage. Amongst which was this guy (who's name I forget), who as it turned out at a later stage that night, suffered from ADHD, and had his whole prescription of Dexedrine with him, something like 500-odd pills in vibrant blue blister packs - a rucksack full basically.

Now, I hear Dexedrine is what they give to fighter pilots to keep them frosty, and most GIs in WW2 had a ration. It's also violently addictive. This I had to discover for myself. This guy was just going round handing out the pills free, so of course I helped myself to one. 'Prescription speed', I thought, 'worth a squirt..' And yes, it was much like speed, but total front-brain wiring hardcore violent speed! Harsher than base! So off I went, jabbering for minutes on end to a variety of different people, mainly about egocentric topics, I even think I summarised my entire life story complete with dramatic highs and lows to one poor girl..

Thing is, with the availability being what it was, it wasn't long before most of the gathered 20-odd people were speeding their tits off on this satan's concoction. This basically meant that the party lasted well into the next day, until around 8pm-ish, by which point I must have gobbled in excess of 20 pills. Remember what I said about these things being addictive? Once ths guy had finally left we decided to head to the student union again to booze away the comedown. I dunno about you guys but that never works for me, as confirmed by this particular trip. As we were sat there, the comedown took full effect, and I sat in a cold sweat feeling more and more agitated. Thing is, some fellas had come over and were chatting to us on our table, in retrospect decent lads who were being sociable, but at the time all I could do was mumble pleasantries and stare into my pint. Moreover I was convinced, 100% CONVINCED, that these were plainclothes detectives trying to collar us for our night of gratuitous excess! It was all I could do to gibber that I wanted to go home, so we headed out. The rest buggered off and I had to wait for a bus into Peckham (an unnerving enterprise at the best of times), feeling actually afraid of the buses, the cars the pedestrians, EVERYTHING!

So remember kids, if someone offers you free pills, no matter how official they look, politely decline. It's in your own interest.

I'd apologise for length, but I've been told it's perfectly proportioned...
(Fri 16th Dec 2005, 19:50, More)

» That's when I knew it was over...

Up in smoke
Back story: December, 2003, Turin. Whilst living in Italy, dating lovely Italian girl of whom I was rather fond.

When due to celebrate our first whole year together (29th December it was..), she called to say she didn't feel that well and wasn't that up for doing anything. Ok, thought I, so I suggested doing something the following day. Apparently this was the wrong answer.. I can't remember the specifics, but she got all in a huff and said 'fine, go out with your mates then..'. Cue protracted, circling debate involving me offering to go around hers, her insisting (bitterly) that I go out. (She - although one of the loveliest people one could ever hope to meet - gets shall we say 'emotional' sometimes, and has a talent for turning pithy matters into full scale arguments. We didn't speak for about a week after I'd gone out to a mate's bbq and after a couple of beers forgot to text her as I'd promised to do. She called me in a sulk, heard other girls' voices in the background [big party] and KICKED RIGHT OFF. But I digress..)

Anyway, after this particular debate I had little desire to see her, so I gave in and elected to see aforementioned friend for an evening of weed and tunes. (Being much less stressful an experience.) Gf not best pleased, but we'd had worse arguments (including some mediterranean classics, with tears, thrown objects, screaming, more tears..), so I didn't worry too much.

As walking home from friend's apartment, gf phones and tells me - 'this is it, the straw that broke the camel's back..', and ended it.

Cue approximately 18 months of desperate longing, depression, abandonment of studies and near-abandonment of social life. Ah, ain't luv grand?

(NB: after reading, she comes across as a totally hysterical irrational bitch (which is only sometimes true). She's nice as pie really!
(Sun 24th Jul 2005, 13:52, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

And another thing..
I recall the one and only time I took shrooms.

In halls years ago, I chipped in for some Mexicanas, and we boiled them up into a foul foul brew, which I had trouble keeping down for about 2 hours.

Then I and a friend (M from the dexys story) went to the club night at our student union. He sober (ish) and I shrooming like a twat. Bad bad bad bad bad idea.. I wore sunglasses in the hope that people wouldn't see the state of my eyes, but a mate stole them and ran off.

I spent about 45 minutes asking everyone I recognised if they'd seen a guy with sunglasses on, as I had by this point become almost umbilically attached to them, and depended on them for my wellbeing (as far as being well is possible on mushrooms).

They were eventually restored to me, and I retreated to a corner fending off any attempts at socialising from anyone with whom I wouldn't trust my life (ie: pretty much everyone).

The lesson learned that night was mushrooms + clubs = NO!
(Fri 16th Dec 2005, 20:04, More)