Daily Mail’s Alternative Christmas Message: Why Everything In Life Is Better When Stoned

7 May

I have smoked weed every day for the past four months, apart from the odd day when I’ve run out of one stash before the next has arrived, and I gotta tell you, I feel pretty good. Have done consistently for, um, at least the last four months. I haven’t done any drugs since the end of October. I’ve only had one drinking session this year. I don’t smoke cigarettes any more, the thought of one makes me feel grim, and I don’t even ever want a rollie. Until a few months ago I was a 20-30 a day man. Now no cigarettes. ‘But Kris, you still get through a load of tobacco that you put in your spliffs. You’re being a bit misleading there,’ ‘Yes, I know I still smoke tobacco in my spliffs, thanks for pointing that out anyway,’ ‘Was that sarcastic?’ ‘Nooooo,’ ‘Now that definitely was, wasn’t it?’ Anyway, my point is, I smoke weed and I feel pretty good.

I have a little ritual. Every night before I go to bed, I roll three spliffs and place them next to the bed, then I put clothes for the next day onto a pile on the floor next to my shoes, then I throw a satsuma (and sometimes an apple) on top of the pile, and then I read in bed for a bit. Just smoking and reading. Currently The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Verdict so far: good book. I’m pretty sure you’ve already read it. And then when I’ve smoked about half of the first of the three spliffs I turn off the light and go to sleep. I haven’t got a telly or access to a computer, so am keeping my evenings Dickensian. Except I’ve got an electric light instead of a candle. I wake at 6:30 to the gentle sound of this music, which I have set as my alarm tone. You might want to play it as the backing track to this piece of writing. You might not. I roll over and grab the half spliff. I light it. I get up and open the shutters to let the early morning light in. I put on the clothes that are piled up under the window. Then I get back onto the bed and smoke the rest of the spliff, listening to the music and waking up. And then at about ten to seven I put my shoes on, put one spliff behind my ear and one between my lips, stick the earphones into the phone to carry on listening to the music, and I quietly slip out into the morning for what I call ‘My Walk.’ It’s really just a standard walk. And I’ve got my satsuma with me. I just walk off into the Spanish countryside to enjoy the world for a couple of hours.

Today started like any other. I had been out for about fifteen minutes, was walking along this path, fields all around me, rabbits chasing each other around playfully, birds flying in majestic formation over head, the sun rising like a giant over my left shoulder, warming me. I checked to see if the phone that I was listening to music on had a camera. It did. Not a very good one. But it did have one. So I took this picture. Which I am sure you will agree is as beautiful as it is shit.

By the way, if you are one of the people who did decide to play the backing track to my story, you should now switch to this set. This is what I was by this point listening to myself. I feel it sets the mood a bit better.


It’s while I’m out on these early morning stoned rambles (the walking kind of ramble. The other kind of ramble, you are now an audience to) that my mind flows with geniusly witty observations, clever thoughts, amazing ideas, often amazing ideas for things to write on this blog. The downside is that there is never anyone there to hear any of these witty observations, clever thoughts or amazing ideas. No witnesses. But I definitely do have them, and they definitely are genius. The annoying thing is that I forget these brilliant ideas as instantaneously as my brain conjures them up, and by the time I get home from my walk and am able to write anything down, all that is left is the dregs. Good stuff – forgotten; boring nonsensical stuff – got loads. For an example of this, look no further than this post.

I’m rambling again. Will try to speed up a bit. This morning, about ten minutes after I took that picture of the sun, I was in an exceptionally good place. The walk, the surroundings, the weather, the music, the animals, and all complimented deliciously by the herb I was smoking. Everything just seemed right. I took my satsuma from my pocket, peeled it and ate it. It was sweet. My brain was coming up with the usual questions it always asks on such mornings, questions like ‘Why is it not a social norm for strangers to give each other hugs when they feel like giving a bit of love?’ Consenting adults, obviously. But man, that would be cool if that was just a normal thing. Sadly, most people don’t see it as a normal thing, or something that they wish to indulge in. Just ask the people of the local weekly market here. They were having none of it when I tried to introduce the practice last Thursday. Their loss. I do feel the townsfolk went a bit far in calling the police, I have to say. Hugs, man, hugs are good! If you feel like hugging a stranger today, just do it! The revolution starts here. Get the stranger’s consent though.

As I ate my satsuma I started having all these great ideas about a post I would write when I got home entitled ‘Why everything in life is better when stoned,’ and trust me the ideas were pretty special. But I have since forgotten almost all of them. Dregs, remember. But one thing I do remember thinking to myself was ‘I bet you’ll get some people arguing that all of this backdrop would have been sufficiently beautiful without being stoned.’ Well yes, true to a degree, but it doesn’t paint the whole picture, does it? For example, the thought process when stoned is different to when sober. I mean, stoned, when I’m watching the rabbits running around and imagining them having little conversations with each other, and then imagining even further, like what they’re talking about, things like ‘Did you catch I’m A Rabbit Get Me Out Of Here on RabbitTV last night? Rabbit Ant and Rabbit Dec were on fire! Comedy geniuses, those two. Cutting edge!’ ‘Yea, I know what you mean. Love Rabbit Ant and Rabbit Dec. I heard that Rabbit Dec was having an affair with a hare, though.’ ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you read.’ ‘But it was in the Rabbit Daily Mail, so it must be true. They also said that if he and her ever produced mixed-species offspring, they would start a petition to get him off RabbitTV.’ ‘Well the Rabbit Daily Mail can just suck my little rabbit balls. Stop reading that filth.’ ‘Okay.’

I’m just not thinking those kind of things when I see rabbits sober. I don’t think so, anyway. I can’t remember the last time I saw rabbits sober. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything whilst not stoned. But I imagine that if I were on exactly the same walk, same scenario entirely, but not stoned, my mind would wander away from celebrity rabbit gossip quickly, and instead occupy itself with thoughts like ‘I wonder if there’ll be any hot water when I get in or if it’s gonna be another cold fucking shower.’ Stuff like that. I was thinking about Why Everything In Life Is Better When Stoned, and then I also thought that it would be funny if the Daily Mail ever ran that headline. Hence the title of this piece of pointlessness.

Writing a piece in which I argue that weed makes everything in life better will give me something to read back when I’m an older man and possibly laugh at how differently Younger Me saw the world, or possibly laugh at how I’m still waking and baking even though I’ve not got many of my original teeth left. Everything always seems like the right way at the time you’re doing it, doesn’t it? I mean, over the years, depending what I’ve been on at the time, I could have wrote thousands of words (apart from when on ketamine; can’t really operate a pen then. Or articulate thoughts) arguing why life is better fucked on drugs, or pissed, or Valiumed up, or whilst naked in a neighbour’s front garden. But yea, I have had amazing times on all of those things. I’m not going to knock the drugs. Just because I started this post saying that I only smoke weed and don’t do drugs these days, doesn’t mean that I would then go on to preach against any of those things, like some sort of holier than thou cockhead. Many of the happiest moments of my life were experienced fucked on drugs. Most of my closest and greatest friends have been introduced into my life whilst completely off my face. Good times. Thing is, with those drugs you eventually gotta come down. The higher you wanna go, the harder you’re eventually going to have to fall. The more MD you do, the more you’re gonna wanna invest in some good quality cushions and a nice soft blanket. Same applies with ketamine. The more Meow you do, the more you’re gonna wanna invest in a gun. To shoot your own brains out. No such issue with smoking weed. Just chill out. Take life at your own speed. Enjoy it. You meet good people on MD, though. Have good times. I miss it. Only sometimes. But it’s there waiting whenever I feel like going back.

Anyway, back to my quality morning. As I continued my walk, feeling like the day couldn’t possibly get any more beautiful, it went and got more beautiful. You couldn’t make it up. And I honestly haven’t this time. Remember that I was out in the fields of the Valencian countryside at 7:30 in the morning, no one to be seen for miles around, just nature and the rising sun. And on the ground in front of me, looking up, my eyes were met with something that would make even the most sober of days magical. This:


A little piece of cardboard with a smiley face on it above the words ‘Have a great day!’

I couldn’t help smiling broadly to myself, even laughing a little bit. This was amazing! How did it get there? Was it a message from God? A calling card from the spirits, perhaps? Its reason for being there, for lying in my path at that precise moment, and at a time when I was remembering good drug nights, with the acid face on the card, its reason for being can surely only be explained by supernatural forces not yet understood by us, right? Wrong. It was all pure coincidence. There is no God. Obviously. But what a perfect and joyous coincidence it was! Just to be on the safe side, I picked it up to check that it definitely wasn’t one of God’s business cards. It wasn’t. The flip side told me that it was in fact the business card of George and his headlights polishing mobile service. George offers his services in five languages: Spanish, English, Russian, German and Danish. My guess is that George is Danish. In my mind, George is not someone who has learnt Danish as a foreign language. If only George knew just how memorable his stray business card has made this day for me. I might ring him. Right after I’ve learnt Danish.

As I held the card in my hand, under the rising sun, I changed my mind slightly. Because I knew that this moment would have been equally beautiful had I been on drugs, drunk, or completely sober. It was special. Actually I suppose it would depend on what kind of drunk I was. If I was Special Brew drunk, particularly at 7:30 in the morning, then I might actually kick the business card or square up to it looking for a fight. But any other kind of drunk – no problem. Beautiful.

So I’m changing the message of this piece to ‘weed makes everything in life better, apart from the things that are already really cool and can’t be bettered. And as for all the other moments in life, the less noteworthy ones, well they will indeed be improved with weed.’

George, you've made me so happy, and also given me a business card that I intend to keep forever

George, polishing your headlights in five languages



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