Herbal highs and a dirty bathroom

Herbal highs and a dirty bathroom

30 March, 2007 | 11.20AM

• Section: Music News Topics: Industry Boy Blog
• Written by: Industry Boy

“I am absolutely ruined,” complains Dwayne down the phoneline. Before I could do any work today, I needed to speak to somebody who was feeling just as bad as me. “It’s like someone beat the shit out of me with a baseball bat, and used my tongue to hoover dog shit off the carpet,” he sniffles. 

“Look there’s only one way to solve this unsavory situation. Let’s get back on the wagon. This bird I know is having a flat warming party tonight, let’s go down there and get trolleyed.”

I hate to admit it but Dwayne is right. Dropping straight off the Miami rollercoaster into reality was a pain too great to bear.

We needed to be gently coaxed back into the real world, like a mummy slowly rocks her child to sleep.

So six hours later Sir Dwayne and me are standing on a doorstep of an unfamiliar house in north London. Buuuuzzzzz.

As we wait for somebody to open the door, Dwayne thrusts a small black packet into my hand.

“What the hell is this,” I ask, examining it and the peculiar green capsules inside.

“Speedos. The legal high. Whenever you feel the need for speed,” I read aloud. “You’re bloody joking, no way am I taking that.”

“Don’t be a puss mate, it is the newest and greatest thing in legal herbal medicine.

“Look both of us feel like crap, this should make us feel normal again,” he says, before ripping open the pack and gobbling up one capsule.

Sometimes Lady Desire didn’t even need to entice me because Dwayne beat her to it. Oh sod it.

I grab a capsule and neck it, but it’s so big it gets stuck in my throat and I start choking uncontrollably just as a fat girl opens the door.

“Awight Dwayne babes,” she begins, before spotting me rolling around on the step.

“Oh, is he awight?” My face is turning red now, the coughing is getting worse.

“He just needs a glass of water, he swallowed his chewing gum down the wrong hole love,” replies Dwayne with a smile.

She fetches me a glass, and I finally force the pill pass my esophagus.

Gaining composure, I introduce myself and hand over the bottle of red wine we bought as a house warming gift. We head inside.

In the living room, about 20 people or so are sprawled out on various sofas and chairs, downing beers, chatting and laughing, whilst a DJ with dusty belt-drive turntables and oversized headphones spins pounding trance. Oh brilliant, trance, my favourite.

I look around the room and unsurprisingly, don’t see a single soul who could be described as sexy. Please take me back to Miami.

For the next hour, me and Dwayne work our way around the room, introduce ourselves and talk the same boring bollocks to everybody. Time for a crap.

Whilst sitting on the bog, I notice some dirt on the shelf in the bathroom. There are some scanky hairs in the sink.

There’s a towel on the floor. A cigarette butt in the corner. A full dustbin. A greasy mirror.

This place is a shit-pit. It needs to be cleaned.

I find an old sponge in the cupboard and some cleaning liquids and get scrubbing.

I start with the shower and then move onto the toilet.

Someone bangs on the door. “Give us a minute,” I shout back, whilst scouring the taps in the sink.

I empty the bin out of the window, and then start mopping the floor.

There’s a commotion outside now. Someone is swearing.

If I could only get rid of this limescale, I could finish and open the door.

“What the hell are you doing in there,” this bloke shouts in my face after I pop open the door sometime later.

“The bathroom just needed a clean that’s all,” I respond, before peeling off the yellow gloves triumphantly. “It’s clean now.”

I find Dwayne laying spread eagled in the middle of the sitting room floor, staring up at the ceiling fan. I join him.

“Do you know this fan spins 127 times in one minute?” he asks.

“Listen mate, I think we should leave,” I whisper. “I just spent the last half hour cleaning the bathroom and I think they’re pissed off.”

“You’re crazy man,” he says. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“I dunno mate, it was just really dirty. I couldn’t leave it alone. I think we better leave now, before it all kicks off.”

I make him stand up and start pulling him towards the front door.

People are starring at us now, whispering and pointing.

“Run you fool!” I scream, before throwing open the door with a loud bang.

Both of us leg it down the street at hyperspeed.

We don’t stop till we reach Highbury & Islington tube station half a mile away.

Back in the house, the fat girl swings open the door of her shiny new bathroom and gasps with delight.

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