Narcotics Anonymous

As an ex-smoker, I’m afraid (to all you smokers) that I’m very glad the smoking ban is coming in on Sunday. Himself, however, thinks it’s scandalous. ‘Everyone should be allowed to smoke in a pub,’ he said. ‘You can’t just impose that sort of ban on everyone.’ Although, of course, that’s precisely what has happened.

If I was still smoking, I’d be jumping. But having spent the last 11 years avoiding smoky places, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be given the chance to enjoy going to those places now. It means that if I do, I don’t have to come home with my hair and clothes reeking. Himself thinks that smokers will now set up smoking dens – houses where people can go and drink and smoke to their hearts content. It’ll be interesting to see.

That got me thinking about other drugs. I’d class music as a drug – it’s addictive, it keeps me (and Himself) awake at nights, it’s mind altering (good music really does make me feel I can fly) and once a tune gets stuck in your head, it’s hell trying to get rid of it. (I currently have Supertramp’s Breakfast in America running round my head, having found the tape in the car last week.)

I did my share of illicit drugs when I was growing up. Not much but enough to realise that I didn’t want to make a habit of it. (Sorry, puns seem to be tripping off my fingers today.)

I had a boyfriend who was a criminal lawyer who had access to a lot of white stuff. It wasn’t a good idea, as it made him impossible to live with. But he tried to interest me in the stuff, so we did a few lines before meeting friends in the pub one night. I got to the pub and started sneezing. And sneezing. We were invited back to the friends for a meal and I couldn’t stop sneezing. In fact, I sneezed all night and finally had to be put to bed, worn out. Believe me, sneezing for 5 or 6 hours is not fun. Chris was concerned, but more pissed off at the World’s Most Expensive Sneeze.

I’ve never been that keen on drugs, though. I’m quite hyper enough without any artificial stimulants – I can’t even drink caffeine any more. But I was talking to a friend yesterday about narcotics, and that reminded me of a time in hospital when I was given a truth drug.
‘Whatever for?’ said my mate, her eyes growing larger.
‘They couldn’t figure out what had made me stop eating, and I didn’t trust anyone enough to tell them. So they said they’d give me this drug “to help me talk about my problems”. I was terrified, actually – I remember that. What an invasion of privacy! It’d be illegal now.’
‘I should think so. So what happened?’ she said, gulping the last of her coffee.
I thought back. ‘In retrospect it was quite funny. ‘By the time the day arrived, I was determined that I wouldn’t tell ANYONE ANYTHING.’ I laughed. ‘So I was taken into a room full of shrinks and nurses all ready to take notes, and had the injection,’
‘- And?’
‘I fielded all the questions with the skill of an ace cricketer, and finally they gave up. I was high as a kite for the rest of the day, ended up doing the Can Can on the ward tables that evening, and was still on the ceiling at around midnight. They decided they’d had enough then, gave me several horse pills and that knocked me out. I lost about half a stone that day.’
‘Not surprised,’ said my mate. ‘But what a waste – just think, you could have worked for MI5. No one could get any information out of you!’

And now I know where I’ve gone wrong all my life. I should be an undercover agent…..