...I'm a complete naif when it comes to drugs. I tried hash twice at university. The first time nothing happened, so I thought I'd better try it again just to check. And nothing happened.

I suppose I regard drugs in the same way I regard Springsteen. I know I'd probably like it if I stuck with it, but now I'm in my 50s I really can't be bothered.

Ticked off everything except Heroin, might save it for one deathly hit when my aches and pains get too much.
My personal favorite was acid, but of course l don't do anything now, (and oh yes, the drugs did work).

...whether you are you on a retainer from the DEA, Archie?

There's some correlation between the above and a "friend's" late 80s/early90s. But mostly it was all Weatherall, Boo Radleys and Joss Ackland's spunky backpack. Some really good times were had but there were a few people that he used to knock about with that never made it and others that are a shell of their former selves.

My friend's clearest memory of those times is lying with a girl in a field somewhere in the south of England with the sun coming up and feeling blissfully happy. Not as happy as when he met his wife to be or when his children were born but a damn sight happier than when the last bill fell through the letterbox. And the gurn was never a good look.

but my student times in the early 80s might as well have been the 1950s compared to what I expect is 'normal' behaviour nowadays. Drug-users were absolute minorities and limited to weed, speed and very occasional acid & mushrooms, with coke done once over the course of our 3 years. Ecstacy was literally unknown.

I suspect coke is done each and every weekend by most students these days. For me it's a been-there-done-that job, and I am too old now to repeat anything and thankfully coke is not a dinner party staple round our way. I am hoping that I'll have a reasonable outlook towards my kids when they inevitably start.

But back in the day a friend worked for a group whose singer employed an assistant. Among this gentleman's many responsibilities was to "test" any narcotics the singer might have access to. One night, my friend made a rare visit to the studio, and spied a tray of nice-looking chocolate cake. Being a hungry (some would say greedy) soul, he wolfed down several slices.

A few minutes later, the singer turned to his assistant, who'd just entered the room, and asked how the cake was. The assistant shook his head, a look of wild paranoia on his face, and struggled to whisper, "don't go near it. It's too strong".

It was only then my friend realized what he'd done, and that the cake may have been laced with something a little more potent than mere cocoa.

He spent the next three days shivering in his room, terrified to come out, the voices of his concerned flatmates outside the door only adding to the crippling fear he felt.

Always read the label.

I've used a fairly wide variety of intoxicating substances in my time, and much of my appreciation of music and art comes from remembering that feeling you get when under the influence.
The thing is, though, it's not real. Music sounds great when you're stoned, granted, but in my experience ALL music sounds great when you're stoned. Music that sounds great when you're straight is the real mark of quality.
Now, I find trying to get the most out of life with only the mildest of stimulants - red wine, bitter and tea in my case - a much more fulfilling and ultimately meaningful experience.
If people want to use whatever substance they choose to amuse themselves, that's fine by me, but in the end the best trip or the strongest weed is no competition for the smile on a baby's face, sunset over the Alps or that point at a REALLY good concert when you know the band are enjoying it just as much as you.

lots of tea. And biscuits.

Medical school isn't completely square, but it's pretty square. There wasn't any drug culture in my year as far as I know. We did a lot of pizza instead. There was a year a few years below me who seemed to be making up for lost time though.

I was well into my 20's before I even saw someone light up a huge joint and pass it to me, I declined, which was odd because it was my anatomy professor.

Also, I don't drink alcohol, never have, and it seems to blow some people's minds:

Person "You don't drink?"
Me: "No"
Person: "What never ever?"
Me: "No"
Person: "Not even a sip?"
Me: "No"
*Person explodes*

It'd be easier to say, I don't drink because I had such a problem in my 20s. It's an odd thing.

... I miss drugs. They were great. They made nightclubs bearable and me incredibly witty and interesting.

I used to be an absolute demon spliff smoker, even taking days off work to indulge. Knot's Landing never looked so good. And as for Sons & Daughters, Countdown, Sound Like Music with Bobby Crush, Open Air and that word quiz thing with Paul Coia, they were all amazing.

But then I realised it was keeping me awake and I couldn't concentrate, and so I knocked it on the head.

To be honest I can't think of anything I'd rather to less now. Even the smell of it makes me nauseous. The legacy is I'm still a (cigarette) smoker.

onanism after having eaten 10 space cakes = ✔

around 1985 some mates made me some cheese on toast with something on it, as I was and am a confirmed non-smoker. Didn't really do a lot and and got my highs from beer ever since.

I hand you over to some real experts!

but I witnessed a friend lose the plot completely in the space of 3 university terms because of drugs. Having money stolen, human excrement and vomit on your floor and walls and threats of violence take their toll. I've no beef with people who do drugs and I've friends who, over 40 and with kids, still do (mainly just a bit of weed) but to see someone you know well become a total stranger in the space of a few months renders you angry and empty in equal measure. I last saw her at a party in London 3 years after graduation in the summer of '92. She was self-harming and living a life of drifting in and out of clinic/refuge in Brighton where she'd check herself in when it was all too much for her. Her boyfriend was abusive and unconfirmed rumours were circulating at the party that she might be HIV positive because of needle sharing. She'd come at the invitation of a mutual friend who was trying to put her amongst peers who were living a normal life to remind her she had other options. Her good intentions failed miserably and she was almost catatonic with guilt about it for days afterwards.

I'd been DJ'ing at the party and having just finished my set I met her in a small group. She looked fine at first and so still buzzing from my set I asked her the time. She rolled up her sleeve and showed me her watch but all I could look at were the needle marks and burn marks. She clocked my face and that was it.

I'm bored of drugs, people talking about drugs and people glamourising drugs. I'm bored of people banning drugs, people's hysteria about drugs and people's misconceptions about drugs. I'm not bored about telling people this story though I wish I was.

Of course I would NEVER go near drugs.

*looks left and right*

but I have a CLOSE friend who used to take a puff on a funny cigarette that was passed to me, er, him. Never did anything for him so he stuck to the legal drug of choice. Real ale. Funny dat as I went to work for one of Lancashire's finest real ale breweries. The nearest I have got to exotic powders and "tabs" would be my usual supply of American Cream Soda and Jelly Belly sweets. Far out maan.

yer usual prog fair in the 70s - weed, downers (no acid, ma heid's fecked up enuff)
80s Goth wizz
since then odd puff on a 'jazz fag' but I prefer a reasonably priced South of the Equator merlot/cab sauv/shiraz or German/Belgian lager (must be chilled to just above freezing) - had some great buzzes on them, loads in fact "and biscuits"

no drugs here.
I'm sure some of the music I enjoy has been made using drugs but everything I've ever read about the joys of drug taking just bores the arse off me.
When I was 16/17 at house-parties the stoners all went off to sit cross legged in a bedroom whilst we were dancing and snogging downstairs.

First smoked dope aged 16 at the flagpole in Queen's Park. Dabbled with it off and on but never got majorly preoccupied with it.

I did gather some magic mushrooms (with expert friends) from the very good lawns at Pollok House. I didn't feel affected by them - maybe I was too cautious and under-dosed.

I have friends who have lost literally years to dope, and one good friend who discovered he liked it pretty much more than anything else. When he was made redundant from his job, he squirrelled away as much cash as he could and became as frugal as possible in his habits, but never stopped smoking. In all honesty, he became pretty dull pretty quickly once he was smoking every day.

The last time I smoked it was in the company of Primal Scream. (clang as the name drops.) I grew up in the next street to them and we hung about a bit as boys. We haven't exactly kept in close contact but I bumped into them at a gig in Glasgow in 1994 or so and we had a long-lost catchup. I had a little of their skunk, on top of quite a bit of Furstenburg. Again, I enjoyed it, but less than I had before, but it was fiercer than my previous experiences had been and the next day was astonishingly grim. I thought "I wonder how many people in the world say 'The last time I took drugs was with Primal Scream, and I'm not doing them any more after that.'. This is a pretty funny story, and I think I'll leave it at that."

So - I'm not against it, not for it, have no compulsion to dabble again.

The only time I had proper chemicals was when I dislocated my shoulder and they had to give me heroin, tempazepam and valium so they could pull it back out and put it back in the socket. I could certainly see what William Burroughs had been going on about : if I wanted to retreat from the world, heroin made my inner space pretty attractive. But I realise that taking the drugs in this way - manufactured in a Swiss lab, administered by medical professionals - is a different experience from recreational use. When I got home from A&E that night, I had to phone my boss, at home, to tell him what had happened and why I would be off work for a couple of weeks. I can still picture how carefully I was enunciating, ripped to the tits on finest pharmeceuticals, speaking v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y.

Nowadays (another clang for a Daily Express word!) I prefer a decent malt, or a pint of Fireside, or a nice glass of red wine.

and it took the full NA 12-step malarkey to get off it. These days, I just empty a sherbet dab-dab onto the mirror and suck it up through the licorice straw :-)

Just say no, kids (makes Grange Hill 'Just Say No' sign)

I still indulge in a little smoke but its a long time since I have done acid,e's or coke.
Acid was ok but mushrooms were better buzz.
MDMA was without doubt the best drug I ever took. The buzz was amazing but sadly the comedown was long and painful[It cost me a son who I havent seen since he was 3 months old].Saying that I dont blame drugs but myself. Noone made me take them.
By the way any other smokers out there think the quality is crap now?

Seriously. Just never really fancied it. I have a reasonably loose grip on reality as it is, and didn't want to loosen it any further.

I'm entirely fine with the idea of other people snorting and smoking whatever they like, as long as I don't have to have a conversation with them while they're doing it (it's not much fun being the only sober person in a room full of stoners)

Only been drunk a handful of times too. I'm pretty much allergic to alcohol, and a glass of anything tends to make me beetroot red, itchy and queasy feeling. Not fun at all.

Make mine a sparkling water and a bowl of fun-free gruel, I guess...

'Kid walks into the front room see his nan sitting on the sofa says to her "Nan have you seen two little tablets I left on top of the TV - LSD ?"

Nan says " No - but have you seen the F*****G dragons in the Kitchen"!

I'll get my coat............

I must say I love getting out of it from time to time. I also have very good control and hold down a decent job & like to think I provide and look after my family well. I used to smoke quite a bit of dope for about twenty five years. It took me quite a few attempts before I managed to stop smoking. Everytime I thought I'd cracked it I'd really miss getting stoned and listening to my new favourite album/cd. I'm well aware that the true test of good music is that it should work whether you are stoned or not but personally after spending many years as a professional musician and having the pleasure of listening to music on some of the best sound systems in the world(Rockfield/Sarm East & west/Strawberry/Olympic etc etc)both stoned and straight I like to occasionaly enhance the listening experience by getting very stoned. How I finally managed to stop was that I began to have a little dope in a milky coffe 'blasted' in the microwave for a couple of minutes. This method meant that I was no longer stuck with having to smoke to get stoned. I was free from the worst and most addictive drug tobacco. That was nine years ago and I haven't smoked since. I now choose to get stoned occasionally when I find the right night with a bit of 'me' time on hand. I'm sure that there are plenty of dope smokers out there that would like to stop smoking but the dreaded tobacco makes it very hard indeed. Getting back to the music side I find that I will stretch myself a little more and try kinds of music that I might not listen to otherwise.
On another note it is interesting that some of our favourites made their best music while intoxicated in some form or another and after cutting it out never made a decent album again - or was it coincidence?

I've only once been offered any kind of drug. Whilst a student at University my housemates asked me if I'd go upstairs with them to smoke some marajuana.

Just said "No thanks", they said "No probs". And that was that.

Dull I know, but that's the story of my drug hell.

Nicely buzzed on mushrooms, circa 1981.

Someone puts Heroes on the turntable. I'm fine until Sense of Doubt comes on.

You can guess the rest. I can honestly say that since that dreadful, traumatic night I've never touched Berlin-era Bowie again.

Drugs? I stuck with them for another 20 years but then decided I wanted my head back. Don't miss them at all these days - red wine and whisky should see me out.

I used to enjoy a smoke but only rarely tried anything else. These days I'll take a puff if passed a spliff at a party but don't actively go looking for it.
A couple of years ago I passed one of those jolly fellows who amuse the tourists by offering to sell them weed every few metres along Camden High Street. I thought, 'Why not?' and went home with a little bag of skunk. Guess what? It was terrific. Mellowing, sleep inducing, arts enhancing, touchy-feely making terrific. But I've been there and done it and don't really feel the need to do it all the the time.
Last time I was in Camden there were a few obvious dealers on the High Street but it seems the Met has found a proper use for community coppers, and it looked like it would be far more effort than it was worth to buy any weed.

Well I tried this stuff which looked like an oxo cube and no effect on me at all. What was useful was a presentation at the local Town Council where I was a member by the local drugs squad. he passed round these little plastic bags containing LSD, heroin etc for us to look at. at the end he even lit some weed and passed it around so we could have a sniff.

and that's the closest i got to it......

at Uni was the extent of my experience. Repeated with considerably more commitment when I went back in 1993 for a year. I remember seeing the first couple of songs at a Dylan concert and then the encore. This also happened with The Cure, Van Morrison, Lou Reed and several of my exams. It was a very good year.

Only twice since. Once about 7 years ago to get me through a retirement 'do' for my boss.

Secondly, quite recently with an improvised 'bong' in a cleaning cupboard at a slightly dodgy pub in East Belfast in the company of a once famous guitar player. I felt fairly weird on the way in, and cannot describe how I felt on the way out!

I had a MARVELLOUS time with some "oong" on Koh Phan Yang (back before it had roads) - it was my 23rd birthday, and a cup of the local mushroom tea was in order. So with a couple of friends, I scarved down about half a pint of dirty grey liquid, and ate all the slug-like lumps at the bottom. Nothing happened.

After about 10 minutes, I had a bit of a tummy ache. In fact, all of us did, so we staggered to the beach to watch the sunset. This was a secluded spot, the only slight distraction being some German tourists - too far to be visible, but just within earshot as the sound travelled across still evening wires. The sun went down, and I slowly realised that I could understand what they were saying, only now, they seemed to be in a bubble. So on my left was German world, entirely separate from the rest of my psyche. Strange things were happening in front, too. The sunset, molten lava to the sea, was as spectacular as every night, possibly more so this evening, but now dusk had settled, what was that on the waves? Cortex brain said "It's a boat, and the lights you can see are from the portholes, reflecting on the water.". The rest of my brain decided it was the most splendig creature, strutting proudly across the sea on orange carrot legs. I asked my comrades and they agreed. I asked the Germans, and they too concurred, despite the distance.

A sober friend, who had warned of perils and pitfalls, had joined us, not wanting to see us drown I guess, but he was putting a real downer on the experience. So much so, in fact, that his face would stretch, lit with the neon lines of a Looney Toons cartoon, and every expression would be magnified into Elmer Fudd. Enough. He was consigned to a private world, a bubble, like the Germans, but a dark one. I would try not to look there.

To my right, everything was happy. Like looking through the clearest crystal, the beach was pristine, pin sharp, perfect. The few beach shacks looked so inviting, there was music playing and all was well in the world.

But what is this? My legs are lengthening before my very eyes! Stop it! Cortex takes over and says "it's the oong, relax" and they return to normal size. But not for long. There they go again. They will be in the sea soon! Every time cortex shrinks them, they sneakily stretch out. I can stride across the ocean! Well, if I could stand up.

And what am I lying on? great boulders, shards of jagged rock. I can feel every one, touching every nerve. If Blake could see the world in a grain of sand, I'm lying on the Universe. Oh hell, I've somehow tried to eat the beach and now my mouth is full of giant rocks. I can feel the sides of each cube with my tongue. I am one with the sand.

My legs have returned, and thick, arterial blood is oozing from between my toes. Luckily, swarms of insects have appeared to devour it, I let them, because cortex can make them disappear.

And so the evening passed into night, and the three of us lay there sharing visions, listening to the waves that broke only for us and occasionally laughing at some German joke which would drift in on the wind.

Enough, the Germans are incomprehensible. Elmer has returned to the hut, my worlds are no longer compartmentalised and I badly need to pee. Legs, recognisable, but still not my own, make their way to the bushes and the night draws to the end.

It was so perfect that I've never had the inclination to repeat it.

... I have consumed is a Tunnocks Tea Cake. Mind blowing, man.

The downside of drugs came to me when I bought my first house and had young sprogs. A year or two later our new next door neighbour was revealed as the local drug dealer. This became apparent with much coming and goings at all hours. Many stoned young 'uns rung the wrong doorbell at all hours and much Madchester music and giggling took place in upstairs rooms alongside our children's rooms.

Fortunately it ended when he was jailed for GBH and we moved out shortly afterwards - no connection between the two. I must admit that I used to wish both him and Shaun Ryder a long and uncomfortable death. My opinion has not changed.

The first time I inhaled was the night Tommy Vance played The Wall in its entirety on his Friday Night Rock Show. By the time I exhaled, over 20 odd years later I'd tripped on far flung beaches, sped my way through some very seedy parties in Brixton, hallucinated joyously at a Grateful Dead concert at Madison Square Gardens, had a gun pulled on me by a very cross IRA enforcer, witnessed a close friend get beaten up by an even crosser dealer, made a ton of cash courtesy of the early MDMA days, spent a ton of cash courtesy of a sociable nasal habit, got stupidly stoned with several famous musicians and lost a number of treasured possessions thanks to short term memory loss (I think).

And then I had kids. And that gradually put a stop to it all. No more. No more.

By the way, how many of you took a trip listening to this?

Smoked a bit at sixth form but suffered a lot from what I have now learned are called "whiteys" - you feel horrible and are very sick. So there went my future as a stoner.

Manchester. Late 80's at Uni. At the Hacienda.. drinking bitter. Couldn't work out, and neither could my mates, why the blokes in the bogs kept saying "Eezantrips" to us.

So that all passed me by.

Portsmouth, late 1990's - lots of high-end nose going around care of a couple of very big local dealers and banana boats from the West Indies using the port. I felt I should see what the fuss was all about. Made the end of my nose go numb and I talked even more bollocks than normal. Good fun, though.

Since then? Not a lot. The Portsmouth Cocaine barons moved into the property market. But I do know a bloke, a dentist in Devon, who lists taking drugs as a hobby. Anything. He's not got an addictive streak and just enjoys getting off his tits on whatever his dealer will get him.

and still enjoy a smoke, sometimes alone, sometimes with my ever-dwindling sprinkling of like-minded music lovers and/or football fans. No, the music and football isn't improved as such but the extra perspective on, say, matters of production and thrust and strategy can be enlightening and usually entertaining. We're a very pleasant bunch of people, articulate, reasonable and discrete, there really isn't a downside to it. Well obviously, it does cost a bit.

Years ago, as students, we did spend too many days loaded and tried this and that: acid was very intense indeed, don't desire it these days though. Having a smoke together is still very much part of our culture, however, and we've just spent a weekend together, celebrating 35 years of great friendship. So I really resent hash being lumped together with the mass of drugs as we continue to show that getting stoned is a civilised experience, doesn't need to be anything else. By trhe way, my source has been the same guy for going on 30 years now, so luck there as well.

This also means I don't get into a panic when my own teenege kids start experimenting but rather encourage them to be reasonable and not overdo anything, especially alcohol..

alcohol for me and cigarettes, surely two of the worst drugs in history. But there you go.

my addictions include TV, (good) Red Wine, Coffee and the Word website--and I am frankly unsure which is the most serious. But I did manage to give up sugar in coffee a while ago, and was amazed what a mood-stabilising step that was ...

This is quite possibly the only surviving picture of B-14. I don't remember taking it. (Now there's a surprise.) Here's Brett. Brett didn't play the clarinet. Brett didn't own a clarinet. I can only assume that Brett had somehow acquired a clarinet with a view to assessing its potential as a kick-ass accessory for The One True Bong.

And yes, his eyes were always like that.

(I've often wondered what happened to Brett and Brad. But I'd put money on them ending up either as minor characters in a Tom Waits lyric or as joint CEOs of a particularly rapacious multinational corporation - nothing in between.)

dropped me in it. From age of 15 to 18 was a habitual smoker of marijuana,hashish etc etc. At the age of 16 my German Pen Friend came over from Hamburg to spend 2 weeks with us. During the week I took him to see friends where we would smoke large amounts of dope. Upon returning home one evening my Dad asked what we had been doing to which my pen friend replied 'we went to see some of Steve's friends and smoked marijuana!!' - my dad was incredulous and I unconvincingly tried to make out that my pen friends English was at fault and that he hadn't explained himself very well,we had merely been smoking cigarettes. Many years later my old man confessed that he knew anyway but had just thought it was a phase I was going through (it was). With regret never tried acid or coke - too scared about the effects.

One thing about the 'drug years' some of the accompanying music was bizarre - I recall specifically Alices Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie, Lay down by Melanie, Ted Nugents Amboy Jukes and Pink Faeries. Those were the days.

… tried most things during his adolescence and youth. Some things he smoked had no other effect than to make him incredibly randy, which got him into trouble on a couple of occasions. Other things he ingested kept him awake all night, which he didn't like at all. Still other things made him behave like a total plonker and upset his friends, or gave him disturbing visions which stayed with him for longer than he would have liked. He had no time for the substances that made one slump, dead-eyed, in a corner.

In the end, my friend shrugged his shoulders and dedicated himself to the consumption of beer, taking as his inspiration the words of Dylan Thomas:

"I liked the taste of beer, its live white lather, its brass-bright depths, the sudden world through the wet brown walls of the glass, the tilted rush to the lips and the slow swallowing down to the lapping belly, the salt on the tongue, the foam at the corners."

In the end though, even the beer bored him and made him fat. Wine made his joints ache and spirits kept him awake at night.

Nowadays, my friend has the odd pint or two, just to be sociable like, and enjoys the occasional, sudden jolt of a well-aimed espresso. Two cups of tea a day, he finds, keep him on top of things and don't interrupt his sleep.

I've never ever smoked, not even tobacco (always seemed singularly pointless), so drugs were never going to happen for me, and I've always avoided them successfully, except one night when I'm convinced I was spiked with E (short version: I had an amazing time, but felt so completely out of control I'd never want to repeat it.)

Me & the GLW are defininitely the exception in our circle, including many parents who appear to regularly spark up in a civilised manner after the kids are put to bed - no way to confirm it of course, but we're fairly sure we're not invited to some occasional "dinner parties" when they know "Persian Rugs" will be making an appearance after the dessert. That's fine.

I used to drink like a fish though, so have no high horse to get on, but do worry about the younger generation's apparent drug-hoovering proclivities, or am I just being scaremongered?

Something that is, if not exactly forgotten, certainly glided over is that one of the most potent and physically harmful recreational drugs - and certainly the most problematic socially - is alcohol. It leads to broken homes and heads, wrecked lives and livers, and leaves a hell of a mess on the nation's pavements of a Sunday morning.

My parents both drank spirits, with what our society would call gusto, but if it had been any other drug would have been called an uncontrolled addiction. Neither of them made it to 70.

I've been rather surprised by some of the contributions in this thread so far, with several posters seeming to imply that a glass or three of red wine, a few good slugs of a single malt or a frothing tankard of real ale is somehow less reckless than, say, taking MDMA, when the sense of being mentally, physically and emotionally out of control when you're drunk is actually a lot more intense and less pleasant than an E rush or even most acid trips.

Having a fear of, and socially rejecting, alcohol would make more sense than rejecting most recreational drugs as "dangerous". And a bad hangover is far, far worse than even the nose-diviest B-14 comedown I ever had.

It's the stigma that is bolted onto drug use that I find so puzzling. Take Brian Clough in his later years. It was obvious from the way he looked and the way he talked that he was killing himself with drink. But can you imagine people reacting the same way if instead of an alcoholic he'd been a junkie? "Aye, he enjoys chasin' t' dragon, does our Cloughie. He's a rum 'un, bless 'im."

I came across an interesting podcast called 'Hooked' it does tend to focus on what I'd call the harder drugs but although I have no direct need to listen to it I find it very informative and interesting. Here's what they say about it themselves -

Hooked is a weekly podcast which looks at the world of drugs. Allison Downing and Nigel Brunsdon, two specialist Harm Reduction workers, aim to educate and dispel myths about substances. They’ll give you the full story about safer use, strategies for cutting down and stopping, help available and tell you all the stuff you wanted to know but were never taught. The show will also look at good practice and innovative work with street drug users within a Harm Reduction framework.

The show aims to appeal to everyone, from those who feel they know nothing about drugs and want to gain more information, to current users looking for some sound advice and to professionals working with drug using clients.

Here's the link and it's available through Itunes too.

http://www.simplysyndicated.com/shows/hooked/

I blame my first experience, which started with myself and a mate being plied with bong hits by his elder brother to a soundtrack of Frank Zappa, and ended up with me knocking myself out against his mother's revolving clothes line in the garden having just vomited over my new suede shoes..

I've had some brilliant times and great memories from nights on drugs, but I really don't have any wish to do it anymore. A glass of red sat with the wife in front of a BBC4 documentary is my idea of a perfect Friday night these days.

Tobacco. The most addictive and destructive drug that is freely and legally available the world over. In the end it even spoiled my enjoyment of cannabis, given that the only reason I don't still smoke the odd J is that I dare not subject myself to the pernicious temptations of the T weed. That and the fact that most grass these days is more powerful than the Large Hadron Collider, and about as much fun to smoke.

...is the super-bionic fry-your-brains-out bug-eyed, smells-like-week-old-football-socks stuff that the stupid people in my home city partake in.
i say "stupid" because of my job, where i come into contact with them, and find out just how little it allows them to separate reality from MTV videos.
i was never pro or anti drugs, until i saw the effect it has on people who lose control of themselves due to having an addictive personality(and this doesn't refer to EVERYONE who takes drugs, only the miserable few who don't know when to stop...)

nowadays a good bottle of rum, and a pile of new-wave vinyl on my wheel of steel - is what gets me high.
much more inspirational.

Smoked from 15 to 47 - gave up 5 years ago, hardest thing I ever did but also the best by far. I am now on a high horse because my tolerance of tobacco smoke anywhere near me is zero. Pretty difficult as my dad, my brother and my 2 brother in laws all smoke. I enjoyed it but I enjoy not smoking much more and my cd collection has grown exponentially. Whilst on the drug subject anyone had any experience of magic mushrooms?

if I could teach myself how to smoke in my sleep, I would

in hash* at college in the mid-90s, although alcohol was overwhelmingly my drug of choice. Only on a couple of occasions did I experience the proper mellow music-enhancing experience, although given that on every single occasion I ever indulged it was following copious amounts of alcohol in various forms that's hardly surprising.

A couple of years back, I went on a stag do to Amsterdam, as one does. Not being a smoker, I went for the cookie option. It actually had quite a profound effect on me, temporarily. It was a sense of calmness that I realise I lack at other times (hence the booze self-medication). We went to a square, and I remember a sense of just taking in my surroundings un-self-consciously. Predictably, I found myself at a McDonald's counter soon after.

For a 'glass half-full', anxiety-prone person such as myself, recreating that feeling could be a strong motivation. It's precisely for that reason that I haven't indulged since. I fear I'm exactly the sort of person who would become dependent. I know that, alcohol being a depressant, booze is something I should probably steer clear of, but that's something I am (very) familiar with and can 'control'. But then I would say that, wouldn't I?

I have always steered clear of stuff like coke, as again, anything that makes you feel that 'on top of the world' is bound to come with a corresponding low. Booze never makes me feel that fantastic, so the highs and lows are less extreme. I have to say though, the recent article by Frank Skinner and the Horizon programme 'Do I Drink Too Much?' are thought-provoking.

For now though, I'll probably carry on drinking. My goal is 'everything in moderation' but that is somewhat elusive at times...

*that's what we called it then. I'm well aware that it's probably ridiculously arcane terminology now but I'm frankly bored to tears with the whole nudge nudge, cockernee rhyming slang palaver

and the sum quantity of my illegal drug intake is literally a couple of puffs on a funny cigarette. This despite 3 years of uni house sharing with regular partakers.

Maybe I don't know what I was missing, but I honestly don't believe I missed anything at all.

I inhaled as a student and into my 20s but just sort of lost interest, lost touch with mates who had connections etc. I have nothing against it and haven't (fanfare) "given it up", but am I likely to have another toot - dunno, pretty unlikely I'd say. I think somewhere I have a little bag of it that someone gave me for my 40th, 11 years ago...dunno where, not that bothered.

But as V V says, T is much worse. I gave up T in late June and doing well so far, but have a long way to go. I only smoked 2 or 3 a day and I have no physical cravings but there are so many moments and places where psychologically I know I'd love one - late evening, glass of red, after a shit day - a nice Golden Virginia rollie is about as close to heaven as you can get.

I'm not going there though!

These days the only drugs I take are prescribed by a reputable NHS doctor. There are no interesting side effects. Only the grinding mundanity of having to take exactly same cocktail of pills again eight hours later in order to remain well.

The most bizarre drug-related experience of my life occurred in Varanasi, in the north of India. They say that if you die within the limits of the old city you will be liberated from the cycle of death and rebirth. I came very close to testing the truth of this claim.

Unlike other Indian cities where the dead are cremated on the outskirts, in Varanasi bodies are burned on wooden funeral pyres on the banks of the river Ganges, along the same stretch of water where people come to wash their clothes and bath.

It’s an intense place even by Indian standards. Buildings that are scarcely a few decades old, look as if they have been standing for hundreds of years. The waterfront is a bewildering maze of narrow alleyways that flood at certain times of year. Life unfolds about an inch away from your face. There is no respite from the unrelenting parade of bizarre imagery that assaults your senses. I remember watching a sacred cow launch a single-minded assault on a vegetable stall while two women beat it over the head with the balancing pans from the scales. On another occasion I encountered an old lady who was seemingly unaffected by the glaring fact that part of her skull was missing and her brains exposed. A westerner called ‘G_______’ would sit in restaurants proudly displaying his small collection of human bones, while gnawing on the charred flesh of bodies he had taken from the funeral pyres.

Bhang (a drug manufactured from the leaves of the cannabis plant) enjoys a pseudo legal status in the city due to its use in religious ceremonies. It is either chewed or enjoyed blended into a lassi (a yoghurt-based drink).

When my friend Heinz - a seasoned Indian traveller - heard that I would be visiting the country, he was very keen that I should visit Varanasi and try Bhang. Unfortunately he was somewhat vague about effects, which I assumed would be on par with a puff on a mild joint.

Upon my arrival at the railway station, I climbed into a Rickshaw and asked the young driver to take me to a particular hotel. About 15 minutes later we drew up outside a shop which he said belonged to his uncle. There followed an altercation which ended when I threw half the money we had agreed on into the seat of the buggy and set off on foot to find a hotel.

Later that evening I entered one of the cafes on the road that leads down to Dashashwamedh Ghat and ordered what was disingenuously referred to on the menu as a special lassi.

“How strong do you want it?” asked the man behind the counter.

“As strong as it gets.”

A few minutes later I was presented with a tall glass containing an opaque, dark green liquid with bits of vegetable matter suspended in it. Despite the off-putting appearance it was very sweet. I drank it quickly and then sat patiently on the bench seat waiting for it to take effect.

“Do you like Bhang?” said a man who had taken the seat next to me.

“I suppose it’s ok.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I might go back to my hotel and get some rest.”

“Where is your hotel?”

I got up and left the cafe. It was too early to turn in, so I wandered around aimlessly. Half an hour later the bhang started to take effect. At first it felt like a tiny sun was pulsing with joy in the centre of my forehead. Then came a familiar feeling that I associated with stronger substances than cannabis: That rush of upwards momentum that keeps on building and getting more intense. It was at this moment I realised that I was going to trip.

By coincidence I had wandered onto the street where I had argued with the rickshaw driver earlier. I walked to the end and onto one of the lesser known burning ghats - a grey beach where a sparsely attended cremation lit up the darkness like a beacon.

Next to the funeral pyre there was a derelict building. I entered it and climbed a very narrow cement staircase to the first floor, then walked through a pair of rooms until I found myself standing in front of a glassless, ceiling to floor window that overlooked the conflagration taking place below.

I had probably only been standing there a few seconds when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and found myself confronted by a group of teenage boys who had obviously followed me into the building. I recognised one of them as the rickshaw driver who I had argued with earlier in the day.

The boys began to take advantage of my addled state, gently manhandling me so that I was framed in the window, looking down onto the burning body; feeling the heat of it carried skyward on the updraft. I felt a hand on my shoulder and another on my back.

“Look.”

It suddenly occurred to me that they might be planning to push me onto the fire.

“I’m... I’m not... turning my back on you,” I slurred, manoeuvring myself so that I was facing the group with my back pressed against the concrete wall.

One of the boys took my hand.

“My friend wants to tell you a story.”

I don’t know whether it was paranoia or justified survival instinct. I pushed through the crowd and ran through the empty rooms. My legs were like jelly as I descended the narrow staircase. Out in the open air I ran for as long as I could through the crazy streets of Varanasi, rendered ever more disorientating by the escalating effects of the Bhang.

At some point I made it back to my hotel. In the communal toilet across the hall from my room I projectile vomited a horizontal stream of green puke at the wall.

Lying on the bed I was running a high temperature. I fished a scrap of paper out of my rucksack and attempted to scribble down what I assumed would be my last words. Nothing seemed appropriate and I kept crossing out what I had written. I calmed down when I saw the green vomit stains covering my jeans and rationalised that I had camouflaged myself from death.

It’s very hard to die when you’re 26.