These tidbits are of the self-help variety but frequently venture into spirituality. Much of what he says makes a great deal of sense and one finds oneself nodding in agreement. Much self-help is, after all,  just uncontroversial common sense. Mariella Frostrup’s Observer column is particularly good at cutting through bollocks and probably causing consternation. Alas, the Barefoot Doctor is a bit too much of a hippy to be provocative. You know the drill; mistakes are just opportunities to learn, as you cannot control other’s behavior; you should learn to just control your reactions to it, everybody hurts (sometimes) yadda yadda cling clang (the silly Buddhist stuff can often detract from the relatively-sound message).

Last week he offered an interesting piece about what one can do if one has given up drugs but is in a social situation where one has previously indulged but now does not wish to despite the protections of others. His advice, to stick to your guns and to ‘see through to the hurting little inner child in them causing them to act out self-destructively and have compassion for them rather than admiration’. That awoke in me a slight feeling of ambiguity that I find interesting.

Two things;

a) Isn’t it amazing that this situation is even being described? Is it really so commonplace for groups of people to get together and take drugs? I don’t mean smoke a bit of dope after dinner. I mean a couple of grammes of coke, maybe some pills, interspersed with whatever is new such as 4mmc (‘forums’ as my educated friend calls it). And alcohol (if GHB/GBL isn’t involved). I’ve been to many such events. ‘Events’ is too strong a word. These are just commonplace gatherings of friends. Being in London for nearly ten years, I am beginning to think that, in many cases, it is these drug-fuelled nights-into-mornings that bond relatively disparate individuals in such a huge and otherwise impersonal city. But then, the use of drugs to facilitate sociality is really nothing new.

b) Is Barefoot Doctor right? Is the drug use a cry of the child within. I know that I love taking cocaine in particular. I went through a phase of really, really wanting it for a few months. I looked for opportunities where it would be socially-acceptable (“Let’s go round X’s”. “Let’s have X and X over for dinner!”). I stashed away some so I knew there would be some when I wanted it. I went for the longest line. I was happy to have my arm twisted into having one for the road and so on. I did enough of these things to start monitoring my consumption and why. I did enough to make me think that I should perhaps slow down a little. Still love it though, but I guess I’ve developed some kind of internal check and balance. (Daniella Westbrook has much to be thanked for perhaps!)

So, what have we learned? I like coke. I don’t like ‘No shit, Sherlock’ advice (particularly when infused with wafty nonsense). I do reflect on my drug consumption; I’m not thoughtless in that respect. Whether that’s written as some consolation to myself (I have had three glasses of wine) or not, I might think about later. But I do think that the Barefoot Doctor may be on to something in that, yes, we drug users might be a tad fucked up, but I’m not sure this is anything that we didn’t already know.

I love his company and all; but I certainly also love time and space by myself every so often.

Doing drugs, people say, is most fun when with friends and certainly the London scene involves bonding over substances. We’ve had many lost weekends that involved going to friends’ houses for dinner, troughing back the wine and champagne, waiting for the inevitable couple of lines instead of dessert, maybe going out to a club or maybe staying in and having some exctasy or GHB/GBL (or some the latest ‘designer drugs’ like 4-mmc, but more of that another time).

These nights are fun. People loosen up and talk and dance and, on the surface of it, make connections. There’s a lot of horseshit spoken, but we’re together at least.

Doing this stuff by yourself though is somewhat of a taboo. While I am no stranger to having a few drinks by myself, I don’t often do anything else. But this weekend, I got through a gram of coke. I had a few drinks, did some web stuff and watched TV. The image of a boring night in, were it not for the chopping board on the arm of the chair beside me.

Oddly enough (or maybe not), I felt enormously morose. I missed the BF a lot. I felt sorry for myself being indoors (even though I was actually looking forward to it). I also felt a bit of a loser for ramming that stuff up my nose so excessively.

I slept poorly despite having a sleeping pill (uppers/downers – we got ‘em). On Sunday, I felt miserable. I turned down a lunch invite and forced myself out for a walk. I had to turn off the iPod as the intensity of music (that wasn’t particularly sad) was becoming too much. I know that one can expect a dip in mood after a Big Night, but that has never seemed to be a be a big deal when I’ve done lines socially.

Not to be repeated, I think.

Last week BF and I had three bottles of wine over and beyond lunch. It was a beautiful day in London and we were sitting outside in the sunshine, chatting, people-watching, enjoying ourselves.

As is often the case, we began setting the world to rights and an issue that we both had opinions on made its way to the fore. Unfortunately, I took a rather more blunt view than I normally would and we ended up in a bit of an antagonistic, painful hole. I sulkily went to bed. At 8:20. I downed an Ambien, which I knew would knock me out and help overcome the hangover.

On Monday, I had to apologise for being an asshole.

What I don’t like about alcohol is the rather subtle way one can get into this self-righteous state. Neither of us was obviously drunk (co-ordination, speech patterns, etc), but the alcohol won out anyway. The anthropologist author Kate Fox in Watching the English talks about the different perception of effects of alcohol on people from different cultures. Essentially she argues that there is much evidence to suggest that alcohol does not in fact make people more prone to bad behaviour, but in English culture, it gives them a licence to behave badly instead. A kind of in vino veritas for people who want to be trutful but would rather not be seen to choose to be so.

Mess.

Right, let’s chronicle my drug use as a gay man in London.

It’s Saturday and last night I had several glasses of Champagne, 5 lines of cocaine, 2 pills (that had a bit of an acid vibe) and one that was pretty mild. we left the party at 3am and stayed up til 8am to see out the effects of the acidy pills. BF took one more pill than I did and he had some vodka while I could only manage water with tonic. We (tried to) sleep until 4pm. I certainly slept but he didn’t at all.

Then his friend came round and we had some champers again and a couple of lines. After they left, I finished the Champagne, had a couple of more lines and then had some gin with blackcurrant juice.

I’ve been toying with this kind of blog for a while. No one seems to blog about this stuff but the Nice People Take Drugs campaign piqued by interest. Taking pills or snorting coke is really no big deal for me, and I have been functioning and achieving in my career and life for several years since I began doing these things.

But I do want to keep a tally of sorts. Hence the blog.

It’s after midnight.  BF is out and I am reluctant for tomorrow to begin in earnest. Another line and another gin?