GOING UP IN SMOKE

THE great cannabis debate is under way. At the end of it the drug might be
completely decriminalised and be available just about everywhere ("I'll have
my 'Evening Courier', a chunky Kit Kat and a packet of Black African Skank
please, Mr Newsagent!").

It would be a remarkable thing if Britain did legalise hash, ganja, dope,
reefers, spliff, splodge, plonk, wadge, or whatever slang term you prefer
for the stuff.

Amsterdam has its "coffee bars" but if we decide to go for the whole hog
then we would be the first developed nation to become a drug autocracy.

Because, make no mistake, if cannabis were to be decriminalised, an enormous
proportion of the adult population would give the stuff a try.

In time, rather like the National; Lottery, the novelty would wear off and
usage would abate somewhat. But cannabis use would permeate every level of
society.

Let's try to imagine an ordinary day after the legalisation of cannabis. . .
8.00am: Your clock radio alarm is supposed to wake you up but does not do so
because the only sound to emanate from it at first is the rustling of
papers.

Eventually there is an apologetic voice. "Hey, guys, sorry about that. I
seem to have lost the news. It's no big deal. Just some stuff about how
our economy has gone down the tubes. But, hey, the really big news is that
the price of spliff is coming down again! So what's the weather going to be
like, Mr Fish?"

"Heavy, man. Stay indoors and light another reefer, that's my advice."

You decide to lie in for an hour or two before staggering down to
breakfast - a spliff and a cup of coffee. You idly wonder if it were
possible to smoke a Weetabix.

10.30am: You car is on empty but filling the tank is a drag so you decide to
hitch to work. You arrive at the office at 12.30am and join the reefer
smokers clustered around the front entrance. You learn that the boss isn't
in yet. He scored a nice packet of Madagascar Blue last night.

3.00pm: You have spent the afternoon dozing at your desk, but there is
nothing much you could have done anyway because there have been continual
electricity cuts. Guys at the power station stoned again, obviously.

Anyway, if they wanted any work out of you they'd have to get round to
paying you. The wages department just sat round giggling all day.

3.30pm: Because you are hitching you decide to set off home early but it
takes 3 hours, mainly because of another pile-up on the ring road. That
would give those squares at the government an excuse for another dopey Don't
Smoke and Drive campaign.

7.00pm: Look in the larder to see if there is anything for tea. It's cool.
There's some of that black Algerian left.

You smoke your early evening reefer and turn on the TV. It's "Who wants to
be a millionaire?". Some guy has just used up all his lifelines getting to
the $100 mark and just giggles when Tarrant tells him he's given a wrong
answer anyway.

You feel a little peckish so you decide to try smoking a Weetabix. It just
goes out straightaway. No big deal.