Freedom Leaf Travel: How Not To Get Stoned In England (Part 2)
I previously shared my tale of woe regarding my inability to score weed since I arrived in the United Kingdom in May (“Budless in Britain”). I came to the conclusion that maybe there wasn’t any doobage to be found in England.
Then one day, I spotted a young woman behind the counter at the local café holding a black mug with a pot leaf on it. After some awkward foreplay, I hit her up.
“Hey, do you know where I can get some [I pointed at her mug], uh, tea?”
“We have loads of it,” she said.
“No, not tea. What’s on the mug.”
“Oh, weed?” she brightened up. “Yeah, how much do you want?”
What? Could it be that easy? I handed her some cash, and she told me to come back the next day, which I did, as soon as the café opened. She slipped it onto my table along with my coffee. I drank the cup quickly and hurried home with the cellophane-wrapped package.
When I opened it at my desk, I felt a crushing blow of disappointment. First off, it was a small amount, like really small. But worse, the quality was pitiful. Not the fresh, fragrant Cali bud I’m used to, but more like Mexican brickweed, as we used to call it back in the day.
Still, I hoped it would get me high. I shredded the shit out of the brown twigs, picking out all of the seeds and, using the entire amount, rolled a well-packed fatty. Sitting in the garden, I lit it up with great seriousness. A lot was riding on this shitty joint; it might be all the pot I’d see for a while.
About halfway through, I looked around, waiting for the grass to appear a little greener, the sky to radiate a deeper blue. But alas, things seemed distinctly normal. I took a deeper hit and looked around again. “Am I high?” I asked aloud. I couldn’t quite tell. Then I came to a sobering realization: When you have to ask yourself if you’re high, chances are you’re not.
So I was back to the drawing board. At wit’s end, I asked a friend from Northern California what I should do. She suggested I seek out my UK friend’s college-age children, since they’d bound to have connections. Her advice turned out to be spot-on. I’ll report on that next month.
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