Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, August 08, 2005


I am rubbish on drugs. Utterly dismal.

You see, we Gentlemen Who Enjoy Soft Furnishings are meant to chomp through pills like Atkins-compliant bon-bons, though I'm buggered if I've ever been able to do properly. Every now and again I will forget the hideous comedowns, the lapping up of water like some rabid dog, the teeth welded together in rictus grin and the eyes the size of dinner plates, and think it's a FABULOUS idea to pop a disco-pill just so I can dance like a spastic in leg callipers who happens to be next to a strong magnet.

But one thing is definite: I will Never Touch Acid Again.

For I ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes, which will certainly never do.

Oh this was in my heady student days many years back, which were mostly spent in a state of freezing cold as all the people in our house couldn't afford to have the heating on, leaving us wandered around the house swathed in duvets and looking like amoeba. One night, all four of us each took an acid tab. Oh they were veterans of dope, old hands at acid, and while they were rolling around and being drawn to the flashing of the alarm clock like moths to a porch light within twenty minutes, exactly nothing happened to me. It was very disappointing.

By 5am and still clearly waiting for a Sergeant Pepper moment that wasn't going to come, I decided to make a cup of coffee. In a couple of hours I had to be at college, so I thought I'd ride it out rather than try and get some sleep. And as I stirred, as the teaspoon made the 'tnk! tnk!' noise on the side of the cup, I felt a sensation, like a sudden emptiness in the stomach. Which is when It All Kicked In.

I looked down at my hand.
"Come on," said the cup of coffee. "We're going for a walk."
"But I've only just made you," I said in a quiet voice, slightly puzzled.
"Who the hell are you talking to?" shouted my housemate from the next room. They'd all gone to bed, worn out from giggling at the fridge light.
"The coffee," I shouted back.
There was a grunt from next door.
I bent down and whispered to the cup. "Can't we just go upstairs and sit and watch telly?" I think I tried to sound seductive.
It tapped its foot and folded its arms. So I sighed, said 'alright', picked it up and left the house.

To get out of my road, you turned right, but the coffee said we should go left. I remember all the colours being bleached out of everything and the sky looking a velvet grey, and I stumbled along for a couple of houses before breaking through some tape. It had wrapped itself around my leg and was threatening to turn into a purple-headed snake or something. I forced myself to breathe and managed to extract myself without spilling any coffee, much to its relief.

And walked straight into a policeman. I later found out I'd walked right onto a crime scene. There'd been a stabbing.

"You alright, son?" he asked. He was carrying a rifle.
"Fine," I said, then turned to hush the cup which was slightly panicking in my hand.
He looked at me properly for the first time. "And what exactly are you doing out at this time of a morning?"
I, er, well. What was I doing out at this time of the morning?
"I'm talking my cup of coffee for a walk, officer."
His brow furrowed. He brought his hand up to the rifle. He paused for a moment.
I raised the cup to show him, willing him to believe. His gaze was unreadable.
"Right you are, son," he said after a moment, clearly realising I just wasn't worth the trouble. "Don't tread on the red bits," he added as he waved me around.

We crossed a field, the coffee and I. Which included navigating an electric fence and a bull, but the coffee told me not to worry. I ended up wandering knee deep into a river I hadn't realised was there until I was in fact knee-deep.

"We're here," said the coffee.
"Oh. Where's that?" I asked.
"The river. You see those trees over there? That's where you should be getting to."
"What, over there? But that's over the river. I don't think I'm in a fit state to swim it," I said dubiously.
"It's where you have to get to, though."
And I stood and waited and thought it through.

Some time later - it may have been hours - I 'aaah'-ed out loud.
"While my goal may be attainable, it is my choice on how far I go to get it, and must be happy where I am before I can start on that journey!" Oh, it all made sense now. I think that was the answer I was meant to get to, the reason why I'd been brought out here. I would have asked the coffee, but I'd drunk it half-hour previously to ward off the cold.
I looked around. I was in a river. It was time to go home and go to college. With a sucking noise, I moved out of the water. I nodded to the bull and completely circumventing the crime scene. And by the time I'd got home, my footwear was waterlogged and completely green.

And this, my dears, is why you shouldn't do drugs. Just think of the shoes.


Skip said...

Words cannot describe how brilliant you are at times.

Jon said...

Hehe, parents should teach this story to their kids!

tornwordo said...

Fab post. I tortured a fair number of pairs myself back in the day.

CyberPete said...

Oh dear! Fabulous! I'll never do drugs (again)!

Jay said...

Why don't they teach this stuff at schools..? ;-)

St. Dickeybird said...

Mmmm, acid got me through my teenage years. I wouldn't do it now, but it has a special place in my heart.

kyknoord said...

Brilliant entry. Takes me back, it does.

Snooze said...

Is this meant to discourage us from drug use? All I want to do is try acid now. I do however appreciate the much needed warning to borrow someone elses shoes prior to doing so.

Normlr said...

That's a great story. Though never having done acid, now I want to try it. I've never seen a talking coffee cup before.

c'lam said...

ah yes, those student days spent in sleepingbags, trying to defrost the washing up liquid so you could do the dishes.

i was too much of "drugs are just wrong wrong wrong" type to actually do drugs.

apart from the one time i took waaaaaaaaaay too much speed. and that just entirely proved my point.

j(aded) said...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Brilliant. My first and last acid experience involved camping in the bush, beach-wading, naked showers (?) and a Boy Scouts group.... it was tres weirdo.

Owen Blacker said...

It wasn't so much that the coffee cup was talking that concerned me as when it folded its arms and tapped its feet.

You're a strange, strange man, Mr Binding.