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Now the Drugs Don't Work, They Just Make You Worse
One of the few things worse than a drugged up twat, coming up on MDMA or down on a spliff, is a drugged up twat in your own house.
Get out of my house
When I used to be a heavier drinker, I never quite enjoyed myself as much as the Bacardi adverts promised. A surfeit of sex and wild abandon. Maybe even some confidently executed small talk. What I didn’t realise though was that if you swap the alcohol for the class As, you can bring all types of wankers back with you. I’ve lived in some real dumps and also some remarkably enjoyable cities and areas. The North of England, London and Toronto are noticeably different places. The one thing they all had in common, though, was the ability to provide any flatmate with an endless supply of tools to bring back.
Because I don’t have half of This Life’s plot devices up my arsehole, I get the sober experience. Never, in the face of such overwhelming evidence to leave the drugs alone, have I wanted to be so off my tits. Anything to blunt the experience and make sure that at least the memories were vague.
Living in London now, I’ve been exposed to a fair few drug cocks. But living in Dalston, as you may have read, means the gene pool is skewed to the Paedo Glasses Brigade. Sharing a postcode with the highest demographic of failing, unemployed (unless you’re counting part-time bar work) filmmakers, writers, actors and musicians is bad enough on weekdays, worse at weekends, but unbearable when there’s more snotty sniffing than talking. Watching someone who you know go mining K-holes every weekend just leaves you with a vague unease. Watching someone wonder why their work mistakes always come after a weekend with just one night’s sleep leaves you with unpleasant resentment.
I never really understood that sympathy was a finite resource, that your goodwill can so noticeably be exhausted, when you have to tolerate someone - clever and kind when sober - locate oblivion in the face of all reason. Just thinking of the various types of addled bruisers brought back to places I’ve lived, the types of clowns who end up giggling at stairs, is a tedious chore.
There’s the stoners - if religion used to be the opiate of the masses, then for a few years in the sixties and seventies, it came perilously close to being replaced by smoking a few joints and listening to The Grateful Dead. A disgraceful state of affairs, certainly, but quite relaxing nonetheless. Nowadays, it’s for wiry, chippy youngsters intent on damage, a gateway drug to carnage far worse than Byker Grove. Imagine a Richie Aprile with pre-prison vim and vigour intent on having your wallet - a terrifying thought.
“People on ketamine are much, much easier to kill than a zombie. In fact, give them a power drill and there’s every chance they’ll do it themselves.”
Then, there are the chaps on MDMA. I plain don’t like pill-hippies. They’re constantly declaring friendships and preaching love when their presence makes me want to do anything but. The first time I realised I was around a fair few people on ecstasy was a house party in Brixton. Now, you might say it was a mistake of me to even bother with a house party - it might as well have been purposefully constructed as Exhibit A of London’s cunt epidemic. But it certainly wasn’t a mistake of mine to severely dent everybody’s high by describing in challenging length, with provocative detail, the effects of famine on the world’s poor. The little victories.
One of the few things worse than a drugged up hippy, coming up on MDMA or down on a spliff, is a hippy in your own house. If I pay rent, I genuinely have no expectation to hear world music. Womad can piss off.
But even worse than that are people off their plums after a few lines of coke. The city boys slumming it over in Shoreditch, creeping up Kingsland Road. Overconfident, not funny, and intent on stamping their will and view on the rest of the world. Unashamed capitalists ruining the two days of the week I don’t have to leave the house to face political reality.
It’s not that I don’t sympathise. Honestly, do you like real life? Nope, nobody sensible does. It’s a crushing drag interspersed by sleep, bog breaks and illness. You know what’s also a crushing drag? Spending time with people on ketamine. If you’ve ever got nostalgic for watching Joey Deacon on Blue Peter, then watch entranced as your friends hoover up a vet’s anaesthetic supply. They’re on their way to becoming an ever more senseless reconstruction of Dawn of the Dead. But stupider. In Dawn of The Dead, the zombies overpower the humans. It might seem like ketamine’s reach is getting similarly out of hand, but here’s a tip: people on ketamine are much, much easier to kill than a zombie. In fact, give them a power drill and there’s every chance they’ll do it themselves. Or a flight of stairs.
You know who I wouldn’t mind being brought back? Junkies. At least they’re quiet.
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COMMENTS
What a strange disjointed article. Thought there might be some "look what this tosser did in my house" anecdotes, but i guess if these druggies really are that boring, there's not a lot to tell! It's all sort of "these people really bore me, and sometimes they're in my house." I keep going back to that word - boring.
Yeah, ustuntman, that's kind of the point. They're boring.
perhaps you should think about moving. at first your story was interesting but unfortunately ended up being a rather tedious rant.
started well, tailed off.
Junkies are great as long as you don't leave money lying around. Or they're your actual friends, so you get to watch them unsubscribe from reality and see their decline in sporadic 6-weekly snapshots, ending in their inevitable death or incarceration. Cokeheads are by far the worst, especially when the late Friday night mentality sets in and everyone's waiting for one person to say "shall we get a g?". Then you get the scrabbling to justify the expense, the insistence that it's OK THIS TIME BECAUSE IT'S BEEN A WHOLE WEEK and fights over who gets to go to the cash machine so they can have the first line of 3% cocaine, 97% other shit that they paid £40 for the pleasure of snorting.
'I never really understood that sympathy was a finite resource, that your goodwill can so noticeably be exhausted, when you have to tolerate someone – clever and kind when sober – locate oblivion in the face of all reason.' Sense?
You are clearly a twat
Have you ever thought about moving to Eastbourne? I've heard the height of drug taking consists of a few valium in nursing homes. Might be more your scene...
I'd genuinely be happy to move to a nice quiet coastal down. I am, I know, a boring cunt.
I log in I read and I was not blown away ... I thought you were going to bring some new insight into living with drug people. But no I think you started off with a point then smoked a joint snorted the coke and it all went down hill as for the K hole most people do not know what it means. Would have been good to give an insight why NHS stopped giving kat to adults as lots had OBEs and it freaked them out. I feel you tried to say to much the Greatfull Dead? No need for them. Look forward to your next one.
indgio Nero, Don't worry. This is my last.
alex, i think your next piece should be titled 'you won't like like reading this'. there's no right or wrong here, it's an opinion piece. some people will like reading this and others won't. (now where's my fucking blue peter badge?)
Jenni, I've lost patience with the internet. This is my last piece about anything apart from abusing football and football fans.
i like writing things people don't like. it's like experimenting in self harm without the scars or getting fat. just take a break, or write under a chick's name. expectations are lower.
Until people comment under their real names, I want them cold and dead.
alex, i sometimes wonder about these people who leave these comments, i mean this isn't exactly the fucking Times Literary Supplement is it? It's midly diverting opinion pieces. I think some folk on here like the wind up. Why dont you try writing with a pseudonym and see if anyone can spot you.
agreed and agreed.
Griff, Good idea, but I simply cannot be bothered anymore. See you on Retrombm. Very rarely.
"London's cunt epidemic" that made me laugh.
A rambling and seemingly pointless "me" article written by someone with serious coherence issues. The author comes across as bitter and joyless. I've had my fair share of bad times on drugs, have met many drugged up idiots. But with my friends I have had seem of the most wonderful times of my life. The real pricks are the Weatherspoons lager lads starting fights at 2 in the morning. Join the human race Alexander Netherton. Everyone likes to get fucked from time to time. Or are you better than everyone else?
maybe a something on the G dead next or football or about a football that's has AI built into it and starts taking drugs and moves to a small flat in London, and becomes the ball at the world cup final and takes LSD just before kick so it is fucked up and when kicked it changes colour direction could even attack the ref the icing on the cake is it ends up in the back of the net and england win the world cup! My real name Inigo Zoltar
I can't do this anymore
Knobhead
The bile you provoke is funny and makes for great reading. You clearly hit a raw nerve with people.
Bloody hell, this one's gone to the wire - are you retiring from writing Alexander? Probably for the best. Good luck for the future.
just sticking to places without the mindless abuse, that's all
Alex ...? this will make you the best writer in the world, putting up with this shit. I thank you again never stop doing what you enjoy. Plus this is mindful abuse. Thanks again.
Your so dry you make feel like a desert. Resentments in recovery...why don't you kill all life and start again.
I have been in a few deserts, I like the city's and beaches life is for all and any one can write. But the banjo that is another gig!
London's cunt apocalypse?
I once took some drugs but they didn't have any effect on me
Get off your high horse ;-)
I enjoyed the comments more than the piece
loved that film HUMAN TRAFFIC i have done drugs... and they do work !!!
i can only apologise...it was supposed to be a 3rd year science project but it kinda got out of hand. Still enjoy a big fat line of K every now and then though
Maybe not round your house though
The comments rock...alex seems quiet easy to wind up though x bless him
Sorry but don't agree with most of this article. It all my time of abusing myself with certain class A's you have to feel in a safe environment so you don't bring back any randoms you don't know.You want to be surrounded with people you can trust.
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