“Cannabis” (1970) by Serge Gainsbourg
“Cannabis” (1970) by Serge Gainsbourg
I can’t remember the first time I smoked. But, surprisingly, I do remember various other times. In addition, I remember eating like a pig after those various times – for some reason.
I picked up the habit from my good mates Tony and Steve, back during the Millennium years, when we used to have parties at their house, and we were at an age where there were no expectations and no limits and when a single fuck was not provided forthwith. It was mostly there I remember my fondest memories.
One night there was a party whereby almost 40 people turned up. The garage was blaring some Basement Jaxx … or maybe it was Groove Armada .... or some other British Dance act at the time. Tony was nice enough to close the two large garage doors of the party within, but those thumping basslines, talkative girls and clinky noises of bottles being opened or tossed away or kicked around drunkenly, I’m pretty sure pissed off the neighbours.
(It was only years later when the flat was evicted – eventually – that I found out that two fat ladies who lived next door in the house on the left-hand side of the garage, put on ear plugs every time they could hear we were having a party – a party we most definitely, in our youth, had every single god damn weekend. I could tell, only now, how annoying we were. But they were nice, even strange enough, in not minding us having parties constantly. They never complained. They never called noise control. Those two fat ladies were either weird old hippies who understood us … or my storytelling of our parties of pandemonium is overblown … or my memory of our parties is skewed. The latter of which could be due to the drugs. Either way, those two fat ladies were cool.)
On that night, funnily enough (maybe due to the neighbours immediately behind the garage), noise control were called. Due to the conspicuous illegalities going on within the garage, Tony met the noise control guy on the road, far away from Caligula’s antics going on from within. (I actually don’t know where I was at this moment in the party … and I can’t even recall how I know Noise Control turned up, especially in the state I was in. Or maybe because Tony and Steve and everyone else I know told me how this story goes, that it’s become lore ... but I digress.)
Tony re-entered by screeching open the small door of the garage, slamming it behind him again, told everyone to turn it down, for those who were actually listening to him, and walked over to the stereo and turned it off. At that moment, everyone was listening to him, as an incredibly hilarious sudden silence fell upon the party. (One girl was caught mid sentence – “–and that’ show I knew he was Jewish.) “Okay, everyone, we gotta be quiet, otherwise, they’ll come back again.) Steve, who was standing by the pool table, made gesticulations to suggest it was the neighbours behind the garage who made the complaint, but knew they could probably hear him, so pointed towards them and mouthed swear words at them. Everyone knew what he was trying to say and giggled at his Chaplinesque communication.
So everyone decided to move inside, away from those back neighbours. Tony opened up the two garage doors to make it easier for exit for 40 people. That’s when the two bellows of the largest clouds of cannabis ever smoked, lifted up from the garage and motioned out towards the road. They were full, intact, slow, creamish and absolutely amazing to look at. Everyone was shocked at the sight. A few didn’t even realise we smoked that much. A few didn’t even realise we were hotboxing the garage. It lasted, maybe, even ten seconds, but those two unbelievable sights were claimed by the backwind, flew upwards and dissipated over Dalry Avenue.
That was a great memory.