One knows the world has gone haywire when one’s parents take you into a Sex show! Mine did, but then, ma and pa are pretty cool.
We’ve just got back from a long weekend in Amsterdam: it’s a fine, beautiful city, full of wonderful buildings, large squares and excellent views, butt we went for other reasons.
We got there Saturday morning in time for lunch in a small café, then a tour of the city by boat, then a trip back to the hotel, then, in the evening, an exploration of the city’s nightlife. We head for the red light area, for which the city is famous, in an attempt to, um, get me aid, during which time we encountered a stage sex show, which was rather funny, if just to see the dirty oriental businessmen in the audience. Then, we went to see if any thing could be done about my virginity. Err..no. seems I can’t even pay for it. Dents ones ego. Ho hum
Anyway, during this very dodgy evening, we paid a visit to the cannabis museum. Somehow, we talked to the proprietor about medicinal cannabis, and he invited us back the following afternoon for a demonstration of THC – the drug minus the orher weird stuff.
Now, I’ve always thought thee parents to be conservative when it comes to drugs. I was wrong, and the following afternoon, after a visit to the tulip fields (pretty, but dull) they wheeled my chair into the museum. There, at the back, was a nice American lady called Zoe, who, after some talk, showed me the thc apparatus – best termed “hippie bagpipe” – and squirted the drug into my mouth.
I had trouble inhaling in time with the mouthpiece, so Zoe recommended we get some hippie chocolate from a nearby café, which, along with ample puffs from the bagpipe, saw me rather..err. I think stoned is the word. I could relax, move more fluidly, and nothing ached. It worked, and all was well, till I had a beer.
That was a mistake: I got rather depressed, sad etc, for no reason. I decided I hated the drug. I should not have mixed the two substances. Not an experience I want to repeat, ever! I still feel slightly iffy.
Yet, possibly the best thing that happened was in the lift of C&A, which we shared with a mother and her daughter with CP. She was about 5 or 6, I guess. We faced each other – she was wide eyed with curiosity, and realisation that she was not alone.