Because he got paid for it, and I’m a little jealous, plus, I’m putting-off sorting out some kind of Sunday food (bad back/hang-over), plus, I think he’s trying to make some kind of point. I’ll get my cast-iron, bona-fide, complaint out of the way:

Public Service Announcement: I’m talking about normal cannabis here rather than skunk which, I’m reliably informed, both is, and can get you into, serious shit.

Bollocks. Transform and others have gone out of their way to dispel the myth of hyper strong weed and links to mental illness for a long time. I believe what they’re saying because they have produced carefully referenced arguments with a basis in actual evidence. The government’s scientists backed this up – they were ignored, presumably various super-duper-skunk platitudes are widespread, because of media coverage of drugs issues. I think with something as important as drugs policy evidence is paramount. Otherwise it’s a waste of time.

There is no Pepé Le Pew in a cape.

Furthermore, and I’m going to emulate a newspaper opinion column journalist’s standard of evidence – I’ve been reliably informed by several somewhat hip ageing middle-class hippies that cannabis oil, Thai-sticks, and ‘red leb’ resin, were mind-blowingly strong compared to most skunk – and highly sought out in the early 1970s.

It may seem a trivial point; but public misconceptions about drugs can lead to policies being enacted that lead to people being locked up.  Which will likely more negatively impact their life than their skunk smoking habits.  Anecdote can be dangerous.  I once saw someone go mad after eating a sausage roll.

Now I’m going to go into full newspaper opinion column (or ‘blog’) mode, but not before carefully, and conscientiously, alienating  people, by telling my imaginary reader, to their face, figuratively speaking – obviously – to fuck off. Fuck off. If you’re reading this you should have better things to do, like preparing some food, or cleaning up a bit. Or something useful.

I’m going to wank a little about David Mitchell’s bit about cool:  Not a cast-iron complaint, not bona fide, but nonetheless worth typing. It annoys me when people who could reasonably be called cool talk about the general principles of cool. It’s like saying “I’m not racist, but” with cool instead of racist. It’s like telling everyone who thinks you’re cool to fuck off, with examples of the Marlborough Man or some cock of a stereotype of cool.  While simultaneously being cool.  “Ooh look at me – people say I’m cool – but I’m not – I can reflect on it – I’m a square peg in a cool round hole”.  Etc.

Now I’m off  to do something useful.

* Which is worth reading weekly because it’s funny. I think David Mitchell is alright – although for all I know he may kick small animals – for fun. The fact that this blog piece is itself opinion makes me lol at my own hypocrisy – I’ve spelt that out for the thickies in this footnote.

Her memory and mental agility are out of step with her 90 something body.  She still reads three or four novels a week, thankfully her eyes are still good.  Despite the Fentanyl patch and muscle relaxants she’s read two Tom Clancy novels in the last two days.  Maybe the Fentanyl patches help with those books. She loudly pronounced that she believes in euthanasia, while looking wistfully towards the 70 something crying out down the hall (terminal cancer sufferer).  She asked that if she ever got that bad whether the doctors could put her out of her misery.  I said they aren’t legally allowed to do that, so she said that if she got that bad she’d steal morphine or other strong painkiller and OD. I think she’d be more than capable of doing that, even if it meant squirrelling medicine while in acute pain.

Say what you like about about my granny, she’s practical, and doesn’t like a fuss.