Aceeeeed.....
Glastonbury, mid 80s. Nicely chilled out on the Friday afternoon, camped on the rise looking across the main stage when the familiar cry rings out. Just what we were looking for. We wave a lazy arm and over stomps one of the travellers, bedecked in crust as was their wont. "Got any beer?" We had a couple, as it happened, so handed him one and he squatted down for a spliff and a very entertaining chat, while we bought a couple of tabs each. Every so often he'd leap up in the air and shout "Aceeeed" at the top of his voice - something my mate found a bit disconcerting, since we'd spotted a couple of the (blindingly obvious) plain-clothes variety pretending to wait for a mate at the crossroads, while scanning the passing crowd up and down. Ah, fuck it. As everybody knew (or thought, or said), the best acid came from the traveller community. Fill yer boots.

He'd been there about ten minutes when seemingly from nowhere appeared a tall, gangly figure who looked like he'd stepped out of a 1950s Boy Scout review - big shorts, neckerchief, Charles Hawtrey glasses etc. All three of us stare at him blankly, until he finally says, in a deep and stereotypical Teutonic baritone "Yoo haff ell ess dee?"

"Yes," says our guest. "I haff ell ess dee".

"How much iss yoor ell ess dee?" says the happy camper.

"Five pounds a tab" (let's say. Dunno, really).

"Oh. How many doo I take?"

"Have you had it before?"

And upon receiving a reply in the negative, and without blinking an eye, our man (who I seem to recall was named something to do with a duck), said "Four".

Slight pause. "Then I will haff eight of your ell ess dee".

We watch as Duckman sorts him out, trousers the cash and the boy scout tromps away among the tents. Through a slightly spliffy haze I was wondering if perhaps we would maybe need more (we'd bought two each) when Duckman leapt to his feet.

"Good chat", he said. "Ta for the beer." And as he walked away, he turned back and said "Watch it with these - they're fucking lethal. Do a half and then another half a few hours later if you need it. You won't, though." And disappeared among the tents.

And he was right. Best acid I've ever, ever had. And ever since that night I've had this mental image of the boy scout (and his mate, probably) necking four blinders and wandering among the lights and sights of the Glastonbury experience, wondering what hit him. He's probably still there, somewhere.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:31, Reply)