Back when I was working summers at my dad's steel processing factory
I had to make a run with a transit full of pallets to drop them off someone outside Bristol. Stopping at the services at Michaelwood there were a hippy-looking couple (dreads and paisley), early 20s, thumbing a lift. Following the reasoning that they were probably strapped for cash and looked harmless enough, I pulled over- "Where you going to?"
"We're going to Glastonbury but anywhere further down the M5 you can take us, that would be great".

Oh, so it was Glasto weekend was it? Being a young metalhead Monsters Of Rock was somewhere on my calendar radar but I didn't have a clue about Glasto. Looking at the map I thought- well, it's only about another 30 miles down to the junction they'd need to get off so I can make the extra loop and still deliver the pallets on time.

At this point I should also add that my knowledge about recreational drugs was limited to what I could glean from the Fabulous Furry Freek Brothers comics- and my participation almost nonexistent.

So it was with some incomprehension I witnessed the girl sat in the middle of the 3-seats in the driver cab produce extra long rolling papers, rolling tobacco and a plum-sized chunk of brown/green cannabis resin. Then burn chunks off the edge of the resin and proceed to make a production line of spliffs, presumably to sell at the festival.

I did make some excuse about not wanting to drive while stoned so I opened the drivers' window a bit to let clean air into the slightly fuggy cab while she stacked up the joints and put the gear away in a tasseled bag.

Conversation carried on in a nonchalant kind of way while I wondered how I would explain this to any motorway cops if they happened to stop me, and then we got to the junction where they were getting off, s oI pulled into a layby on the roundabout and let them off.

Amid many thanks and the girl leaning over to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, I prepared to pull back onto the road, she appeared again at my window with a bright smile on her face. I wound down the window to ask if she'd forgotten anything and she said "For your trouble!" and handed me one of the spliffs.

WOW. THANKS. BYE NOW.

Shit, I am packing contraband now. And when would I smoke it when I couldn't get found out? Where?

In the end I took it home and hid it inside my clock radio and promptly forgot about it until about 6 months later when paranoia kicked in and the only way I thought I could get rid of it without smelling of smoke was to eat it.

Not much happened, my hearing went a bit echoey for an hour or so. Glad it was free, I would have been right narked if I'd have paid for it. Weak ass spliff.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Fri 22 Aug 2014, 19:11, 3 replies)

lol at the second from last line

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 19:29, closed)

That second to last line only makes any sort of sense if you were completely off your fucking tits on mushrooms.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 19:56, closed)

My tits were fucked off on mushrooms
END.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Fri 22 Aug 2014, 20:46, closed)