One of the issues I’ve heard about music festivals is that a number of medicine are taken. That’s one thing else I’m ineffective at. My drug-taking profession started at a neighborhood centre disco after I was about 15. I had drunk a load of homebrew beforehand – after which somebody gave me some pot. I felt fairly unwell. To deal with this, I made a decision to go and have a headbang to Deep Purple. Scenes as ghastly as they had been predictable ensued. The mere odor of pot nonetheless makes me gag, as my fellow headbangers and I had been retching on that terrible evening.
Quick ahead virtually 40 years to March this 12 months, and we get to my second – and emphatically final ever – encounter with cannabis. I used to be in a resort bar in Manchester having fallen into dialog with fairly a well-known actor. After some time, she mentioned to me: “Come out for some spliff.” Subsequent factor, I’m sitting exterior, pulling on a joint the scale of a fencepost. I felt a bit humorous at first, after which decidedly peculiar. She quickly went inside, presumably as a result of I had fully stopped talking. In addition to dropping the ability of speech, it turned out that my motor features had all however abandoned me, too. And I used to be overwhelmed with nausea.
Finally, I managed to face up and execute a form of grandpa shuffle again into the resort foyer, and make my well beyond pitying eyes to the raise and my room. I felt totally terrible. I contemplated a fast headbang to expunge it from my system, however thought higher of it. I lay on the ground, which gave the impression to be the factor shifting least, and shut my eyes. A really vivid array of colors danced on the within of my eyelids.
I slept the very best sleep I’ve slept in ages that evening. However I’m nonetheless not touching the stuff once more.
• Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, author and Guardian columnist