User:Sog1970/Fear and Loathing in Blackpool

UnBooks:Fear And Loathing In Blackpool

Chapter 1

We were on the A586 somewhere near St Michael's On Wyre when the drugs began to take hold. I'd had a sniff from a bottle of poppers and it had given me a major headrush. I pulled over to clear my vision and try to think straight, when I saw a swarm of bats - old bats, all waiting for the local bus, and looking at me in disapproval, the way my gran does when I'm late taking her valium round on a tuesday. My mind instantly went to the mobile pharmacy we had in the boot. We had a couple of 'teenths of super skunk, a handful of doves, five tabs of acid, a saltshaker half-full of speed, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... (Well, three tubes of Smarties, to be exact, but the sugar rush gets us pretty fucking high). Also, a six-pack of Stella, a half-bottle of Jack Daniel's, a case of alcopops, a pint of cider (neither of us are big cider drinkers), and two dozen aspirin. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into locked a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the Stella. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of a Stella binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. My attorney looked at me. "What the fuck are you pulling over for man?" he asked. "It's your turn to drive", I told him, and climbed into the back seat to let the nausea wash over me. He shrugged, took the wheel and pointed the pimped-out little Corsa back into traffic. No point in telling him about the old bats, I thought. Poor bastard'll see them soon enough.

Last Chapter

We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the good ecstasy and easy credit that fuelled the 90's. That was the fatal flaw in The Shamen's trip. They danced around for a while, claiming that "E's are good" (whatever they claim) without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took them seriously... All those pathetically eager acid house freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three quid a hit. But their loss and failure is ours too. What the 90's took down with them was the central illusion of a whole lifestyle that the drugs helped create. A generation of Facebookers, asylum seekers, who never understood the essential old mystic fallacy of the acid culture: the desperate assumption that somebody, or at least some force, was tending the light at the end of the tunnel. There was only one road back to London - the M1. Just one long tailback through roadworks at Sheffield, Leicester and Milton Keynes. Then onto the M25, and straight on into frantic oblivion. Safety. Obscurity. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom.