The 17th Cannabis Cup

2: Night Prowler

Wednesday 24th November 2004

I remember little after Jaap left. I know me & A.J. went over to Dreadrock for a cider. I know we tried the Rugby bar for another but it was closed. I simply can't remember what I did & I don't have any notes either. In fact my note book is kind of sketchy until Friday. Thursday is completely missing from the record. However, after enjoying a hot shower I went back over to Floyd & enjoyed a full English breakfast for about half the price of Barney's. The girl who had been rushed off her feet the morning before was on my side of the counter today & looking the better for it. She had been busy as hell the morning before & although she had felt like screaming she had coped very well with a full & demanding bar.

At some point the day before I had seen Mila. I had gone over & taken her by the hand to say hello. Though she replied, she left me in no doubt that I was no longer on her Christmas card list.

How will I live with myself .................. ?!

I speak as I find.

If that upsets folk then there must be something thats striking a cord.

By the time I had finished breakfast & had a smoke I'd decided the whole High Times thing was a complete write off. It had been a hell of a year for us both. I'd decided in January to pack in this bloody silly lark & go find a job that pays. I was talked into continueing as nobody else was doing what I was for cannabis literature on Merseyside. Besides, what else was I going to do while I waited to have my cataract operation ?

High Times though was in much greater difficulty. They had split into two magazines & subscriptions & sales had nosedived through the floor. Merseyside sold aproximately five copys this year. I stopped carrying it in February, around the same time I passeed on the magazine round.

H.T. had come back with some consessional buds by June but the damage had already been done. I wonder if it will ever recover. Frankly I think High Times glory days are long past.

I decided to pay a visit to Concious Dreams & the Magic Mushroom Gallery & go buy some drugs. There was nothing else to do but get fucked up. There was getting laid of course, but I reckoned it would be much more fun to get tripped out freaky first.

At some point I made it over to De Kuil. When I arrived the High Times folks were in there with a film crew. I went over to Cannabis College & took a few shots of the basement garden.

Cannabis College Garden 2004

Cannabis College Garden 2004

I scored some Hawiian Mushrooms from Concious Dreams & some speed caps from the Mushroom Gallery. Then I drifted over to the Melkweg & ran into A.J.. We had evening meal in the 'All You Can Eat' & went our ways. At some point I went back to my room & took a few stash shots before drinking some burbon & necking some mushies. My back was aching & I felt comfortable so I decided to strech out on the bed for a minute or two.

Hawiian Mushrooms, some buds & a piece of NL Skuff

An hour later I woke up, saw the mushies & necked what was left of them with another glass of burbon. Ten minutes later feeling the burbon rush & pulling up the zip on my leather I realised I'd woken up because the first lot of mushies had kicked in.

Oh fuck !

Ah, fuck it.

I headed off towards Rookies for a couple of ciders & a look see if any of the High Times punters were around. By the time I got there I was in no doubt I was tripping. I got myself served without a problem & made it to a little table where I skinned one up & got really into the lighting effects. I got served a second time feeling pretty fuckin' gone but enjoying the buzz. Now either the bar shut, or I decided to move on, I can't remember which. I found myself inside the Rokery scoring Jameson & a Spa Blue. Party times were a going on. I got talking to a weird looking Canadian at the bar. A very bad move. He started telling me horror stories about drug psychosis & some poor bugger getting gang fucked upstairs in Burger King Ledseplien Square in broad daylight by three nutters.

I moved away & found somewhere to sit & started talking to some Dutch lads. I wanted to talk to some folks & bring myself back up on some amiable banter but they were not up for it. Fair play maybe, it must be a pain in the arse having somebody tripping bother your night out. They left & I tried to battle with the paranoid phantoms Mr Canada had given me. Another couple of lads sat down & I tried talking to them but they weren't up for it either. A lovely young serving girl came on me & took a rambling order for another Jameson & Blue Spa, twice. Other folks were onto the situation by now, but I was helpless. The trip was a strong one & I was fighting a lot of internal demons which had been released by Mr Canadian. I was stuck to the wall I'd sat with my back against like glue. Frankly I was freaking but doing my best to keep talking myself out of it. I could see folks communicating with the lads sitting next to me. Some fat mare with a lot of dark frizzy hair started taking photos of me. At this point I knew I was in real trouble, but still managed a half hearted, "Fuck off !", from right across the room.

It would have been just so much better if she had talked to me or even just put her arms round me for a few minutes, but big lads in leather that are off their 'ead seem to scare women for some reason. Even if they know what the score is. With the very greatest of effort I pulled my frayed self together & left the place. This may have coincided with closing time but I think things carried on half an hour or so after I left. I was really gone by this stage. I remember walking off to find my bike, more easily than I expected, & I remember riding back as far as the Hotel before realising I was far too gone to look for a woman & turning around. It seemed like a good idea at the time to head back to where I'd come from. Back to people & lights, & people who were at least understanding of my present tripped out situation.

Along the ride I tripped out. I got lost somewhere in my primal unformed being. Somehow I'd tripped back to my infancy & was about to fully understand the teeth clenching thing as a primal emotional response control when I became aware of other riders in my space. I came out of my trip enough to realise I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere & that one of the riders at least, who was close (touching range) was a hustler. Then I tripped out darkly. I visioned myself standing over a body of a street hustler studying the tendrils of steam rising from his exposed intestines. I think I was growling. The riders disapeared. I saw lights & steamed towards them in a half recognition. I knew it was some part of Ledseplien.

Dolphins.

Dolphins was open twenty four hours during the cup.

I headed there in a paranoid state still feeling like I was being shadowed by hustlers. In truth I think I'd scared the other riders shitless with mad stares & foaming gibberish. Outside the Dolphins were two bouncers. At least they appeared such. It was an easy mistake to make. They were both tall & wearing dark clothes & standing either side of the door.

Like a man possessed I stormed Dolphins & demanded candy. I'd sussed I was on a bad one & wanted to come down as fast as possible. Unfortunatly for me the two guys outside were not bouncers. One was an American that hung around long enough to make certain the situation was under control. The other was some Mancunian twat on the make.

My greatest thanks to Ginger & Rene who were working that night who acted responsibly & sensitivly. Especially Ginger. Looking back I think I must have put a bit of a fright into them, all be it unintentionally. Sorry folks. While I began getting myself together & Ginger sorted me out with a fruit juice the Manc was in my ear. He never shut up. I eventually asked him if he was on speed. He was also freaking out Ginger & Rene. I kept having to push him away from me physically & I considered it may be requisite of me to launch him back into the street. My head was everywhere. Thankfully the gobshite got the message & left of his own accord.

It was past 6:00am before I left Dolphins. Light was timidly overtaking the darkness. Again I found my iron steed more easily than I imagined I would & began making my way to my bed. I fell off on the way & nearly broke my arm & leg. Getting up from the spill my right foreleg sang beautifully. My left elbow was a numb horrible pain. I couldn't clasp or unclasp my fingers. I could stand so that meant however hurt my leg felt it wasn't broken. I tried moving my fingers again & got some response. O.K., I had movement. I might hardly be able to move it in the morning because of the bruising but it looked as though I'd got away without breaking anything.

Without further incident I made it to my hotel & my bed under the watchful full moon.

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Thursday 25th November 2004

Not to suprisingly I slept late. I was twice harrassed by 'house cleaning'. I did not rise until after 1:30 pm. When I did come around I felt immediatly stupid. I remembered most of what had happened the night before & was supremely embarassed on my own behalf. I wanted to let them know over at Dolphins that I was O.K.. Ginger had been most insistant that I put in an appearance next day just so as she would know I was alright.

Big ups Ginger ! You were really cool Wednesday night. I've seen many people operate behind a bar in my time. Ginger is one of the very best. I have no idea what sort of life she lived before serving coffee to dope heads, but that girl is sharp as a tack. I would never play cards with her, unless it was a game of strip poker with only the two of us playing, & a pack of cards that I'd marked. I'd still lose, but at least only the two of us would know.

My arm was a mass of pain & I couldn't straighten it properly. I could see no bruising. My leg was another story. That bugger hurt like it was bleeding. Except it wasn't. There was no sign of a bruise & swelling was next to none existant. Gently I touched it over & stopped in the first second. Pain shot through my leg like a fresh whip lash. O.K., I hadn't bust my leg but it had been a close thing. I reckoned my shin bone was bruised. The same was probably true of my elbow.

Nice one Vernie !

Whats next, crash your car upside down written off & walk away with nothing more than a cut finger ?

Nah, did that last August.

I got myself into the shower & limbered up a little as I got my head together. It was Thursday, which meant last day of the Cup & award ceremonys that night. I still had the largest half of a bottle of burbon too. I poured myself a shot & took it in one. My stomach didn't register it for a couple of minutes, & then did a small roll.

I was in a bad state & I knew early morning liquid pain killer wasn't what the Dr would recomend.

Fuck the Dr.

If it wasn't for that cunt I might be a different person living a different life.

Having safely managed to dress myself & find my bike I made my way over to the Dolphins via the Chippy next to Dampkring & the Fish stand next to Stix (5g Bio Shiva €31-00) on the Utrechtstraat. In all the years I'd been going to Amsterdam I'd never tried their tradsitional chips & mayo combination. Today was the day to change that & I have to say the difference was a tastey change. The fish stand also did me well. I scored a couple of fresh uncooked herrings with onion & pickle. They were delicious.

When I got to Dolphins the staff had of course changed, but one of the punters was still at the bar. I checked in over at the second H.T. venue & had a long blasted conversation with Sagamatha Tony over some more of his Blueberry. I made my way over to the PRE Cafe & settled into combination black coffees & Jameson & got talking to an English couple who had simply wandered into the middle of the madness that was about to become the John Sinclair Radio Show.

The PRE Cafe Radio Show

The three of us got talking & before I knew it the Radio Show had started. So had the mini Cup. We were given two samples to try, both outdoor crops.

The first sample was the best. Its taste though stronger was more paletable than the second & you could feel the hit off it. Then dinner was served in a special Ministers Cup meal. There was fresh smoked salmon cooked to perfection. There was roast chicken donated by the owner of the shop where supplys were bought for the meal. There were all sorts of wonderful taste treats & it was a truely fabulous meal. At some point I got talking to Alyssa, our cook, whom I'd met before. We had a mutual aquaintance as it turned out. Al owed him €380-00, he owed me €100-00 for goods not recieved. To my shocked suprise Al honoured his debt to me. I did not expect her to do so & I did not ask her to. She did it voluntarily & with some insistance. May the Gods smile on you Al.

Time & the Radio Show marched on & my companions left to go do their thing. I stayed a little longer to finish off my Ital & listen to the show. At around quarter to eight I left the PRE Cafe for the Melkweg Awards. I had no idea if I'd get in. I was suposed to have worked out something with A.J. for a pass, but my phone battery had died, & between getting fucked up tripped out & where I was now, I hadn't re-charged it. I was out of communication from the world.

As it happened I was wearing a bunch of old Judge passes & a day pass. When I was challenged I made it out to be a real hastle to have to undo two coats, a shirt, & remove a scarf, just to show my passes. I moved aside my scarf & revealed my day pass ribbon & was promptly ushered in.

Inside the Melkweg Gypsy had the doors staked out & was forcing packets of seeds on the assembling punters. I breifly chatted with Lorna Clay of the Cannabis College before changing rooms & picking a good spec for the awards. Things got started & I began taking shots of the winners. Now at this point it should be quite clear to you, dear reader, that I was no way going to remember the list of names & awards. So, let me show you the pictures with what I do remember.

Cup Winners Together

This year the High Times folks had taken precautions as to prevent easy picture taking from the press pit. A screen hung over most of the stage leaving a little oblong space half filled by a table & candle affair. I had to shift about in the crowd to get my shots. As I moved forward so did another eagar photographer,

"Watch it mate. This is supose to be the Peace Cup you know.".

I'll fuckin' peace you in a minute ya cunt. Get out the fuckin' way !

Just then I saw Ferre also snapping away.

After the awards were over I went straight over to Rookies for a couple of ciders. I'd just poured my second bottle & was firing up an Ital when the noise from behind me, where the Volcano hits were being given, rose. I turned to see one of the bar staff with a condom over his head & another member of female staff drawing a face on it.

More folks in the bar turned to see what the fuss was & pretty soon the whole bar was cheering on the guy to burst it by inflating it through his nostrils. A few exhaled tokes went in there too. Eventually the condon & the suspense burst. Folk cheered & clapped & went back to their drinking. Though it was obvious a lot of the punters in the bar had been to the awards there was little talk of them. All the usual people won cups. The only suprise was that Homegrown Fantaseeds had finally been recognised in the Peoples Cup for their Cheese. Japp told me they are working on producing seeds of this strain.

Like many, I believe the Cups were fixed from the start & decided in New York before anyone arrived in Amsterdam. The Cups organisation, chaotic at the best of times, was abysmal. High Times is in serious crisis. 420 Tours are, aledgedly, bankrupt out of business after last years farce. If Steve Hagar was there he had enough sense to keep his face hidden. I never saw him once all week. What were they thinking about splitting the mag into two & doing away with the cannabis content ?

Might it be a result of doing too much of some other drug/drugs ?

That High Times has needed some new direction & leadership for some years has been more than evident with their woefully decieving brand marketing of the 420 logo. It was a desperate attempt to marry 'counter culture' with mainstream. It was an obvious gimmick, a promotional device, a useful rail to rack the past glorys of the1960's on in the great celestial hippie wardrobe of the last century. I bet Dick Hebdige could get a whole new 'Sub Culture & The Meaning Of Style' theory out of it. But like everything else High Times have tried to impliment, including the desperate attempts of Tom Forcade to film the Sex Pistols 1978 Tour of the USA, its ill thought out, half hearted, half arsed & geared to the capitalist system of money making for which it is well known for criticising.

How can a man believe in equality yet deal in slavery ?

It is not possible in our three dimentional world to be black, & white, at the same time. Not without a lot of grey shades. So how can High Times be anti-the-established-order & yet promote brand marketing ?

Its all Lip Service. They have no desire to change the status quo, just to market it.

Can you say hypocrite.

Can ya say Hippie-crite.

Hallelujah brother, hallelujah sister.

With my thirst slaked for the moment I went over to Dolphins again. I wanted to see Ginger & thank her for being so nice & helpful the night before. This I did & after another shot or two of Jameson I headed off to an early nights bed.

Viper 2/12/2004

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First Published 2/12/2004 by Viperslair.co.uk

Re-published 1/1/2006

Re-formatted for Disc 16/10/2006