Of ex-wives and cannabis
About, ooh, 19 years ago, I had just started seeing the ex. Now, her friend Nicky's parents owned a luxury caravan on a site just outside my home town, and every so often Nicky, the ex, and another mate, Kim, would pile into an ancient green mini and spend the weekend in the caravan.

One afternoon, whilst I was still doing my Saturday job in a kitchen, the three of them sauntered into the courtyard - none of them knew that I worked there, and I certainly hadn't realised they were planning on coming up. A last minute decision by all accounts. So, I got a 10 minute break, grabbed a drink and went to join them outside. That night, we all agreed to meet up in town, make a night of it, and I would go back to the caravan.

So that's what happened. Except that Kim didn't come back to the caravan, having instead attached herself to one of the local hippies, Bill - nice bloke. And off she went. This experience changed Kim somewhat as she was introduced to the joys of smoking, erm, non-tobacco products. She resurfaced the next day looking a bit dishevelled, but having obviously had a good time of it.

And so, over the next few summer months, this would be a regular occurence - they would troop up to the caravan, and sometimes they'd come into town for the night, or sometimes I would catch the bus after work and meet them at the caravan.

I've already alluded in a previous post that my ex doesn't smoke, and is / was a bit of a health junkie. However, I lied a bit there. It's true that she had never touched a cigarette, but, Kim's experiences had left the three of them feeling a tad more relaxed on the subject of illicit substances. I had myself dabbled a little by that time (only weed, never anything else), but I was a little surprised when, on arriving at the caravan to be greeted by the scent of something very powerful, and the sight of my ex draped across the couch with the combined look of a slightly bemused puppy and a grin resembling Jack Nicholson in Batman on her face, whilst her mates pointed at me and then spontaneously pissed themselves laughing.

One look in the kitchen sink told me all I needed to know. A plastic bottle with the end cut away, a lighter, and two blackened knives on the draining board. In amongst the giggles from all three, I managed to ascertain that they'd got to the caravan at about 3pm, and had proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon hot-knifing some particularly powerful resin.

I did what any self respecting boyfriend would do in a situation like that - I made them all a coffee, then when the giggles had subsided I got them to hold the knives in place while I had a go...

Like, whoa.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 21 Mar 2008, 14:28, Reply)