I actually drink quite a lot of Absinth. When I hit new towns and bars on my travels, if I find a bar that I know I am going to frequent a lot, I generally persuade the barkeep to get a bottle in. There is somthing quite exentric about absinthe and absinthe drinkers that appeals to me.
It used to be illeagal in the UK untill about 1998 or so. When it first became legal a bar opened up in Hoxton E. London, knoking the stuff out to the party heads in the area. I would put some rediculous clown costume and swap magic tricks for hits of absinthe. It would work a treat. Some realy peculiar stanger doing bizarre and peculiar things whilst drinking green poison.
And it really is a very peculiar and dangerous drink. Twice it has totally caught me out. thrown me over its shoulder and given me a right kicking. Absinthe sneaks up on you. One minuite your there the next, with no warning, instantly tripping, oblivious. You may hear storries from the freinds that had to scoop you up into a taxi, but it will always remain black for you.
One of the curious adventures Ive had whilst on Absinthe.
I was dressed like a fucking christmas tree in the hight of Summer in Hoxton. I'm wearing a big straw hat and a pink feater boa. I was in a small circle of close friends but I'd hit a few stangers with some stunt or two, for shots of "The Green Lady". One minuite I am there, the center of atention, surrounded by applouding spectators, the next thing I know, I'm out side in the middle of the night in the rain, by myself, lost. I can't work out whats happened. Its like I've been transported both in time and dimension, instantly and with out my consent. Its very disconcerting.
Ive absolutley no idea where I am. I also discover that I can bearly walk. I take a few steps and fall over, pick my self up and repeat the proccess a number of times. I need to get home but dont recognize anything. I decide to walk/lurch up the road untill I spot a landmark in order to orientate my self. I walk and walk, desperatly looking for some recognizable feature. Past my best friends house, past my local pub, past my girl friends flat, past the magic shop that taught me most of what I now do, all the way to Oxford Street where I used to work. Suddenly I see where I am and retrace my steps back the way I've come (still lurching) towards Hackney.
I eventually find my flat only to discover that I can't find my keys. Its still raining. There is a burned out shell of some wrecked abandoned car on some nearby waste ground. I decide to take shelter in it. Some time latter, I wake to the sights and sounds of London going to work. My keys are on my lap and I am covered from my chin to my knees in the chilli sauce people put on kebabs.
I phoned in to work sick.
