Mad Tom
At Glastonphant during "part 1" of the ambulance post:

I had a mate, whose identity I shall protect by changing one letter of his name, known universally as Mad Tom. He was indeed mad, schizophrenic to be precise. He was mostly OK to be around, occasionally he would go bananas and have to spend a few weeks in a psychiatric ward but that was rare.

Tom lived for drugs. He lived with his parents and spent his combined Income Support, Sickness Benefit and Disability Benefit of £120 per week almost entirely on drugs. Trouble is, because of the madness, it didn't really make much difference whether the drugs were real or not.

Did he care? We went mushroom picking in Wales once and he scoffed all the falsies including some that were bright blue that I chucked out of his swag bag.

He came along as did another mate's mad, in the crystal healing and horoscopes sense, hippy mum and her lovely 12 year old daughter Celeste. Celeste had a large paper bag of pink sherbert with her which gave me an idea, I'm at a music festival, 100,000 yoofs and I've got a large bag of pink powder, it's scam-o-clock time.

So, I said to Tom "Want to try some of this?". "What is it?" he asked when I passed him the bag. "Cocaine" says I. "But it's pink" says he. "It's Pink Champagne" I further fabricated, "the finest Cocaine money can buy".

He dabs his hand into the bag, pulls out some powder and snorts it up his nose, Then he has another and another and another. He looks up, pink bubbles dribbling from his nose, "this is good shit!" he exclaimed.

"Want to make some money Tom?" I asked. "No man, we should keep this for ourselves" he protested. A compromise was needed, "how about we sell some of it and spend the money on acid?". "Yeah!" says Tom.

So I made up 6 or 7 wraps and sent him on his way.

About 5 minutes later he's coming back towards me with a group of big, scarey, beardy biker types. "He's the one who made me do it" he says pointing at me.

I managed to whine my way out of a kicking.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 1 Aug 2008, 15:00, 3 replies)

£120 a week??
Fair enough, but I'm down as paranoid schizophrenic, dutifully take some of the most unpleasant pasychiatric drugs known to man, have trouble holding down a job, yet have never been offered any money. I got the DLA application form but after filling it out honestly, it was apparent I didn't have a legal case and in due course I received a letter telling me I didn't.
(lost, Fri 1 Aug 2008, 15:26, closed)

£120
That's my estimate.
I was on income support myself which was £45.
Sickness benefit I believe was "double bubble".
Plus an extra £30 or so disability allowance.

Maybe you need a sympathetic doctor?
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 1 Aug 2008, 15:38, closed)

My psychiatrist is a horrible bitch
I've only seen her smile when I've come in wearing a suit, because it obviously meant I'd got a respectable office job - something anathema to my sensibility. She's known for looking down on her patients and she's the only one attached to my NHS surgery..
(lost, Fri 1 Aug 2008, 16:21, closed)