Citation: The red one. "A Trip to London: An Experience with Mushrooms, MDMA, Amyl Nitrite, Cannabis & Alcohol (exp42032)". Erowid.org. Dec 25, 2006. erowid.org/exp/42032
Iím a 23-year-old student from Ireland, I lived in London for a year. During this time I partied like a rock star, going to some of the worldís best clubs every other week to see the worldís finest techno deejays do their thing. I had many a mad night out, the drugs were cheaper and of far higher quality than back home. All you could get where I lived was hash and XTC, perhaps a bit of speed. In London anything was available! The English love their weed, the green you could buy on the street kicked the shit of the dry, weak as fuck gear I tried back home. The pills were always as good as the best I ever got in Ireland, often better. They were five for £20 in the clubs, ten for £10 if you knew a dealer. It was paradise.
Before I moved back to this hell hole of a country in June 2004, I invited me old sparring partner Dee over for a mad weekend. Iíve been best mates with Dee for years, we always went on mad trips out to dance festivals raves, nightclubs, etc. and we had some pretty fucked up times. We are both into techno, both have turntables, and both have an unhealthy appetite for all things naughty. Where as Dee is a major coke and E head (his personal best is 4g coke, 23 pills and a 700ml bottle of vodka in 24 hours) Iím more than happy with a couple of pills and shit loads of smoke.
Dee lived in Barcelona for 6 months while I was in London. I visited him for a week in November, when it was pissing rain, cold, and fuck all tourists about, therefore fuck all people spoke English. We were reduced to buying 10 Euro deals of hash of 14-year-old Romanian Gypsies drug dealers on the street. 10 Euros got you enough for one of our large sized spliffs, a lump about the size of a peanut M+M. I was pissed off to say the least cause I had a lump of hash the size of a Mars bar on my bedside table back in London. At least we got some good pills in a club one night, as its impossible to get any pills in Barcelona at all.
I invited him over to London on the second weekend of May, and planned a good old time for us both. I ordered in half an ounce (14g) of hash and a quarter (7g) of some mind-melting weed of my supplier. He was a middle aged mellow stoner who had been dealing drugs all his life, and he always gave me monster deals at a fair price. I also decided to try something new to both of us for the weekend, MUSHROOMS!! I was walking past a record shop on the way home from work when I spotted a sign in the window advertising shrooms for £5 an ounce. You see in the UK the mushrooms themselves arenít illegal, but the psychoactive juice inside them is a class A drug. This is to protect some poor cunt who has them growing naturally in his garden, so leaving a loophole you could drive a bus through in the law. Sweet, no?
They also down graded cannabis to a class C drug when I moved over there, meaning in your own home or garden you and your mates could smoke all day long and the filth could do fuck all about it. If you are caught smoking on the street, they ask you to go down an alley to finish it (happened to me twice), or at worse take it off you and give you a lecture. The only way you can be arrested with it is if you blaze up near a school or playground. Drinking on the street, on the bus and on the train is cool too, thatís why I love that country so much.
The week before he arrived I had the house to myself so I bought a half ounce of Thai shrooms and ate them on the train home from work. They tasted like nothing I ever had before, and had to stop myself from puking it all back up with every mouthful. Showered when I got home and had a spliff of the weed I got early on in the week, to test it out. The buzz crept up slowly, my stomach felt warm and fuzzy, kinda like when your Ďcoming upí on an E tablet but far less intense. I noticed all vertical lines, like the houses on the street behind the mine, were ever so gently rocking forward and backward, while the horizontal lines of the roofs and the ground were also moving. I looked at the tree in the garden, it seemed to be folding itself in and out like a fucked up origami cutout. I was so cool looking I nearly forgot to finish ma spliff!
I retired inside to watch ĎThe Good, The Bad, and The Uglyí on DVD. The buzz was really beginning to kick in by now, and the scene at the start where the three men walk slowly towards each other then rush into the bar was the most alien thing I ever saw!
I couldnít make head nor tale of what I was seeing at all, though I was loving every minute of it and laughing my ass of to my self. In fact I kept turning to my left to comment on it to the thin air on the sofa beside me. I rang Dee and let him know what he was in for next weekend, though I didnít make much sense to him!
Anyway, he arrived Friday, we went record shopping, bought an ounce of shrooms each and headed home. We had a good few spliffs and a few cans of beer in the back garden, watching the sun go down and catching up on the news and craic from back home. We went to the pub for a few, but as I had been working a 7-day, 65-hour week on a fucking building site for a few months previously (Iím serious, apart from that weekend I had like five days off in four months) we had an early night.
I will try to describe the Saturday on some sort of time scale for you to see how the drugs gradually took hold, but the concept of time flyís out the fucking window when you are off your face!! Let me just say it was one of the 2 most fucked up drug guzzling weekends we were ever on so keep reading, the good bit starts here...
10am: We start the day with a hearty breakfast of beer and spliffs with weed and hash lovingly packed into five papers. The sun was out in a cloudless sky, it was already 23 C, and would reach about 29 or 30 degrees by midday. We donned the sunglasses and headed down to the cafe for a fried breakfast of bacon, eggs and chips. This was all we would eat all day, tee hee. I lived about 15 miles from the city centre so we hopped on the underground and headed uptown to Vauxhall.
12am: Vauxhall tube is right behind MI6 head quarters, the cool as fuck building seen at the start of the James Bond film where he chases the lady in the jet boat. After giving a good Irish one fingered fuck you to the security cameras, whilst skinning up, we head to the little park behind it to eat the shrooms, washed down with a frosty can of beer. They still tasted like shit but I knew what was coming next so we ate the most of the and hid the rest (about 1/4 ounce) under a bush. We then went into the Queen Anne pub on the edge of the park. The Queen Anne is London's sleaziest, most down and out strip club. Thereís a bar, a small stage with three poles and a whole host of drunks, weirdos and perverts inside. The windows are boarded up and after each dance the girls come round with a Hamlet cigar tin for their cash, £1 per person.
We settle in with another pint and sit right at the front. We are the only patrons under 40 in the whole place, the rest are deathly still and look like they are on trial for murder, their faces a mixture of guilt and awe. The women are ok, one sweet little Brazilian who looks like that Eva whatís her face off Desperate House Wivesí, few English, one black hoochie mama who weighs more than Dee and I put together. When the music starts (Fuck you right back, Hot in Here, etc.) they strip, go on the poles, kneel in front of you and finger their pussies, etc. Good wholesome fun.
1:30pm: We start coming up ever so slightly on the shrooms, Dee says its kinda like cominí up on a yoke (XTC) .I agree, not wanting to spoil whatís coming next for him. We canít stop laughing at nothing, the girls sense we are up to something as we are talking gibberish to each other when there is a choice bare ass inches from our noses. More beer please bar man!
2:30pm: We are fucked with a capital F by this stage, the serial killer looking regulars are looking daggers at us for spoiling their dirty fuck fantasies. Am having little visions of me sitting on the stool and everything takes on a brown/yellow tint. The lights kinda leave a trail behind them when I turn my head, far out. The women Ďdancingí must have enjoyed seeing two fucked up young bloods in instead of the usual knob ends, and tease us more to fuck with our messed heads. The black ladyís clit looks like a limp brown match stick attached to her cunt lips. The conversation is going down hill rapidly, kinda like when your coming down off yokes and you keep forgetting what you said, or even what the fuck you were talking about in the first place. We had seen every girl dance twice by this stage, so we throw £1 each into the next girls tin and make good our escape outside into the world.
4 pm: We head over to the petrol station opposite MI6 to get some cans of beer, and admire the building for a while. It seemed to stretch up to the sky, the sides nodding this way and that. We are still buzzing, and seek out the last of our shrooms under the bush. The sun had sweated them a bit, so I licked the inside of the bag after sharing them with Dee. The park was fairly empty, some people sunbathing, walking their dogs, larking about. We sat down on the grey dying grass and made a monster spliff each to cement our friendship. I never felt as close to Dee as then. On pills we were always in a sweaty loud nightclub, in worlds of our own. Here we could talk and drink and smoke, only the noise of aircraft overhead disrupting the moment. We discussed where next. I suggested Soho, the red-light/sex shop area just north of the West End. Dee was thinking about the whores, I could tell, but then he remembered a certain football match was taking place...
Of course! Arsenal, his favourite team, was playing the last game of the Premiership Football league. The team had the title in the bag months before, today was their crowning glory. They had been unbeaten all season. Their home ground, where the match was, was a half hour away by train. Why not? The silly cunt had spent the last 10 years or so screaming at them on the TV every match they played. Dee was a die hard supporter, he was kicked out of our local back home for fighting with another silly cunt who teased him when they lost an unimportant game. Away we went to the train station, Dee grinning ear to ear. We got a few cans of beer for the journey and another spliff for good luck.
5pm: Of all the fucking luck, when we plonked down on our seats we were faced with two old aged pensioners, two typical grandmas with their little shopping bags and their little umbrellas, on a day like this?! I think we scared the shit out of them, cause if I looked half as bad as Dee, we looked like two crack heads on the way back from a five-day binge. Grinning manically, eyes like car tyres, laughing at the sound of the doors closing, etc. We were trying to drink the beer but kinda kept missing the mouth! They were clutching their bags closer to their bodies with each stop we passed, as we had started making growling noises and jerking our bodies just to freak them out. The visuals started kicking in again, the sun must have worked wonders on the remaining shrooms! Will this journey ever end? Who gives a fuck, I could sit here all day buzzing with ma buddy.
After 5pm: Finally fucking got to Islington, where Highbury Stadium is located. Every pub was overflowing with pissed up cunts in Arsenal shirts and hats. We skinned up another joint on a wall under a tree, a police helicopter clattering over head. The sounds, the smell of car exhaust, the taste of cold beer, friendship, rushes. After the weirdness of the train journey it was good to be back in the warm sun. I realised how open to suggestion shrooms leave you, the train journey felt like a tape stuck between fast forward and reverse. The dark image rushing past the windows, the constant noise, the same faces, it seemed like time had stopped, like we were on a different planet. Now we remembered it was the middle of the day, a warm summers day. Sweet!
Me and Dee were buzzing like fuck off each other. We gave each other a big manly hug and he thanked me from the bottom of his heart for having him over. I felt like we were 15 all over again, sneaking a few tins of cider behind some bushes before going into an under age disco. Nothing mattered but us, the world was built around us and we were masters of our own destinies. We were invincible, like an IRA hit squad at the heart of the enemy, except our brief was to run riot and have fun, not fuck people up.
A disposable camera is purchased and we trek up to the stadium. We ask directions of a family, who were delighted to help out two pissed up Paddies. If we had our glasses off they would have shoved their kids down the road and pretended we werenít there. Cunts. We purchase another two beers (every corner shop sells beer, unlike Ireland, so we bought them one at a time to have a cold one in hand at all times) and stop for a smoke break. We have fuck all weed left so we dig into the hash instead. The park is next to the main road from the stadium, its a sea of red and white, Dee nearly cums in his pants at the site. He decides there and then he wants to move over here for good (he does 6 months later). Yeah yeah, whatever!
After fucking about the stadium for a while (Iím not into football, and the match ended hours ago) I request him to stop arseing about and lets get some more drugs up town. Although Iím high on about three different drugs, Iím in complete control and can remember these events like yesterday. The train journeys a bit fuzzy, but soon were in Soho. I can feel the shrooms starting to leave my head, maybe the few I took the last day gave me a tolerance to them?
7pm: The day begins to cool a bit so we head into a cosy pub for some light refreshment. After a day of drinking cheap Red Stripe beer, the proper pint of Stella is like gold going down. We are no longer rushing on shrooms, although we feel in great form, deciding what to do next. Iím surprised how sober we are, considering we have drank over a gallon of beer each during the day, plus everything else. We decide to wander deeper into Soho, dodging the queens ready to leer and drool over two luscious young home boys like ourselves. Sorry mate, exit only! We walk down Great Windmill Street, covered in strip joints, sex shops and whorehouses.
A word of warning to tourists, especially Yank tourists, DO NOT GO NEAR THESE PLACES!! If your looking for action, ring a massage parlour. The knocking shops are run by VERY scary people, they tempt you in, tease you, then two seven-foot apes rush in and take your cash before fucking you out face first onto the piss soaked streets outside. If you have little cash you will be frog marched to the nearest ATM, made to key in your pin, and they take all that instead. The very day before Dee came over, a crime phone in show reconstructed an incident that happened outside the Blue Bunny Club on this very street. Typical story, they ripped the guy off, slapped him about, kicked him out and had a good laugh at the poor cunt. He ran off seething. The girls sit on stools outside these fine establishments enticing people in. Fifteen minutes after being kicked out, the guy came back with a bowie knife and stabbed the poor girl sitting on it to death. You have been warned...
8pm: So there we were, swaggering down the street like we had the biggest balls in the world. As we came level with the Blue Bunny, I noticed Dee had a filthy little smile on his face. There was a very sexy black girl on the stool, shouting 'Come on baby!' to us. I pushed him on double quick, not arsed to explain why. We stopped in a sex shop and bought a bottle of poppers (amyl nitrate) to lift our spirits. The club we were going to didnít open for another three hours so we found this beautiful little square, open space with trees around. There was a guy practicing the circus trick where he has a string between two sticks, and two plastic cones joined at the pointy bits. He would flick it up in the air and catch it between the sticks on the string. We sat down and lashed into the weed and hash. As you have probably guessed, we love our smoke, thereís fuck all worth doing back home but get high.
The guy was pretty shit at the tricks but we rested our asses and relaxed. After being on the move constantly since we left the Queen Anne, I only then realised the shrooms were still effecting my vision and mood. Central London is a beautiful city to look at, all the fine buildings, the little trees and shrubs, the people walking about. The guy came and chatted with us for a few minutes, as we were the only people cheering him on. We gave him some of the spliffs and he warned us to watch out for the filth, as they loved giving youths a hard time in this fancy area. Alas the thirst soon kicked back in and we headed off for more nasty cheap booze.
9pm: We stumble across a shop that sells 40 ounce bottles of San Miguel beer. Oh happy dayz! When Dee lived in Barcelona, all he drank was these very same bottles of beer. Over there they were 1 Euro each, about 60p in real money. Here they were £3 Dacha well... To make matters worse, after a large hit from the bottle of poppers I dropped mine like a spastic cunt, nearly cutting the fuck off some poor girls feet. I retreated back into the shop before her boyfriend started on me. Soon after we settled in a door way opposite a strip club. We really started into the gear big time, its a fine tradition of ours to get as fucked up as possible before even thinking of entering a club. We skinned up the last of the weed, smoked it, and took turns taking 20 second hits from the poppers. Things were going downhill fast! The bouncers opposite us were pissing themselves laughing at the two Paddy winos sitting in the gutter getting fucked up. Again I dropped my 40 ounce, but it was near empty anyhow. I still did a little war dance though, the bouncers loved the free entertainment! We were slowly getting pissed, smoking spliff after spliff after spliff didnít help either. Time to move on, the night had just began.
11pm: After a short train ride to Farringdon, we arrived, Fabric. The finest techno club London had to offer. We were to meet my sister and a buddy of ours there. We were in no mood to stand about so we ducked straight inside. Fabric is an old train station converted into a nightclub. All red brick and steel tubing. It has unisex toilets too, although the men only have a piss trough while the ladies have toilets. What if you have to shit? The main room plays boring as fuck minimal techno, where the introduction of a high hat is the highlight of a tune. The back room is a small sweaty room with a deafening sound system and an ace laser show. We were just sipping beers and taking poppers, as my mate was bringing the yokes. You are allowed to smoke gear in it too but the old coordination was to far gone by this stage!
12am: About fucking time! Derrick arrives with my big sis, and the beans. Five for £20? Safe mate, fucking safe as fuck! I was beginning to slow down at this stage, the beer always catches up with you. The shrooms were long gone and some arse hole knocked the poppers out of my hand. Down the hatch. Usually the back room is ROCKING, Rob Hood, Sven Vath , Dave Clarke, DJ Rush, etc. but tonight we have Miss Kitten. Sheís good but I would consider her a warm up act. The pills in England are always kick ass, the Irish ones are dish water in comparison, not even half the strength. I cant really get into the music that sheís playing, Dee and the rest of them are about somewhere, I always go off on my own when Iím in a club, better fun. After the initial rush of the first three yokes I sit down for a while as my back hurts. This some times happens to me from standing up all day, plus Iím rapidly losing interest in the music. I skin up a spliff with a pair of girls, I donít try to chat them up as it seems like too much effort.
7am: The club is about to close so we jump in a taxi to go home. We could take the tube for a fraction of the cost, but we would have to concentrate on when to get on/off trains, wait for connecting trains, etc. The taxi driver puts on some soothing music and we are away. I feel wired from the pills, but in a good mood. Dee and I are going to be talking about this day when we are in our 70ís, soon we will be home, safe, sleep. We stop at my old address, where Derrick still lives, about seven miles from the river. I hate it when you are coming home wired in the morning and every one is going about their Sunday morning business. In the flat Derrick makes coffee for my sister, Dee and I make a rather large spliff. Derrick and my sister are as good a friends as me and Dee are, go way back. They were doing what we were doing and then some when they were in there teens, respect!
Fucking hate rolling spliffs after a night out, your mouth is as dry as sandpaper and your vision is all over the place. Has to be done, love me smoke after a few yokes. My sis is staying the night (day rather?) here so Dee and I make the last leg home on our own. Dee finds a pill in his pocket and I guilt trip him into giving me half. Works every time! We could take the tube then a bus, but we can also take a bus straight to my front door. The first way we will be home a massive 10 minutes earlier, fuck that, think as little as possible, take the bus young man. It had been an evening of some energy expenditure, I couldnít cope with more hard work like changing from bus to train. We wait for the bus in silence, the goldfish memory had kicked in, we both knew there was no point trying. The people at the bus stop tutted and stared. If I could have been bothered I would have given them something to stare at, namely me pissing against the bus stop or something like that. Need. Sleep. Bed. Home.
8am: On the 45-minute bus ride home we didnít speak one work to each other. Too fucked. The grandmaís going to church were disgusted two nice young men like us had let ourselves get into such a state. Weíre only freaks on the weekend love, only on the weekend.
Finally get home, I take the very, very last bit of weed I had been stashing for myself and make a nightcap spliff out of it and some hash, while Dee organizes the beer. Again we sit in near silence doing drugs. Doing drugs. Sounds so alien to me. Alas we are empty shells of men, zombies, prolonging a high that died hours ago.
I realise we have been on the go for 23 hours straight, the suns up, the party has to end. Sleep is all we want now. We still have a nice nub of hash left, over an eighth. We shake hands and hug half heartedly, then off to bed. I was asleep before I hit the pillowÖ
I slept for 11 hours straight, nobody could wake me up. I was pissed off cause I had promised Dee to take him to a cool outdoor pub were all the fuck ups go after a night out to carry on with the party. He and my bro and sis had a barbeque instead. I got up at 9pm that night and smoked like a train. I would have gone only I had been working very hard with fuck all days off for months. He understood though, and later admitted he would have faded anyway. I felt tired, not at all moody. Just drained.
We both were very tired. We talked about the day before and smoked, felling like we just survived D-Day or something. I felt pleased I had showed him a good time, he looked after me well in Barcelona, my bastard bank card didnít work in Spain, even though the cock heads in the bank said it would. He looked after me those last two days, so now were even.
If the music in Fabric was a bit better it would have been the perfect end to a wonderful day. Well you canít win them all, eh? Now Iím living in the banana republic of Ireland, and heís living in London. Far closer to the river than I ever was. Time for me to go over and fuck him hood up no? ;>)
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