Beware - Over 18s Only

A lot of people have approached me since starting this blog with the idea, that in order for me to keep it going, there are a couple of things that I just can’t talk about or go into

‘Like what?’ I’d say

‘Like Drugs.’

‘Well, my friend, I disagree. Wholeheartedly!’

The whole point is that you are being as truthful with yourself as possible in the most public way possible and not to think about the fact that colleagues and relations could be reading it. Why would I bother sitting here, writing away, leaving out important details of every story just because people who read it might not approve.

That is why my topic today is cocaine.

Cocaine. Wow, I feel so bold and naughty just writing the word. Cocaine, holy shit, I feel like I’m on coke just saying it. The balls on me, wow, check me out, fair play to me . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I’m an idiot.

But anyway, I’ve never really been mad into my coke, I never really had the bank roll to possibly sustain a regular use of it but every once in a while, on a special occasion - someone’s birthday, Trinity Ball, the last night of a show, whatever – me and some mate would go halves on a tasty ton bag and into it we would go throughout the night and probably by the end of it, we would be wondering what the fuck did we just spend a hundred euro on. It’s just too dear for the regular Joe soap. But do not fret, all you coke lovers that have suddenly found yourself on the dole, the answer is here.

I don’t know what genius is responsible for this revelation but you can now buy coke out of shops - LEGALLY. I can’t go into who and where because I don’t know them and also I don’t want to fuck it up for the lads who are doing it, but these lads, using only herbal and legal substances, have come up with a menu different types of substitute coke. I swear to fuck and I know, I know what you might be thinking but, trust me, I was the same. I hated those herbal party pill things. All they did was just agitated the hell out of me and keep me awake for what seemed like a week. But there we were me and a couple of people passing this shop. Stop, look and we head in to see if the rumours were true.

We are greeted by an extremely polite and knowledgeable gent with gigantic dreadlocks

‘Hi Guys, How can I help you?’ He asks

After taking a quick gander at quite a long menu. ‘Yeah, I’ll have half a gram of Blow, please, my dear man.

‘A fine choice, sir, how would one like it packaged?

‘A cellophane bag, would be sufficient’

‘That will be twenty euro’

And off we went on our travels. Now, sceptic that I am, I was not expecting much, to be perfectly honest I was expecting pretty much exactly what I got off those herbal yokes. Shite!

Later that night, we were out having a lot of crack, and when I say a lot, I mean gargling it up to the fucking max, when it just dawned on me. I have that half gram of shit in my pocket from earlier. Up I went to give it a try. Whap, it went up the right nostril and off I headed back down to join everyone . . . . . . . let me tell you, it was savage. Not only that, it was better than any other illegal stuff I’ve ever tried in the Ireland. Which now that I think of it, isn’t that hard but still whoop ouwa that. Who’s having the crack, Jacko’s havin the crack?

But as it was with those dodgy herbal pills and as it was with the mushrooms, it’s just a matter of time in this country, word will get back to some government official, and even though it hasn’t affected anyone’s health or even that it isn’t causing unsavoury behaviour, they will pass some law that it will become illegal. What is the crack? When are our government going to realise that all we want to do is put each other in inebriated states and not just in an alcoholic fashion.

Get your fuckin shit together, lads, and if you don’t know how to. Get a bit of that into you – Sniff!

Giving Back Jackets?

You are never gonna believe what happen as I entered work on this Baltic evening. Just to continue on from the 'jacket getting nicked' blog. I stroll into work, I'm freezing, I'm starving. I sit up at the bar at the green room; pour myself a nice warm cup of coffee as I wait for my microwave dinner to finish cooking. I take a sip -

'Jesus, this day is getting better, this is exactly what I need.'

The coffee was quality. Bing! Thai curry ready, have a taste -

'Holy Shit, these things are tasty. Jesus, this day is going very well so far.'

But nothing, nothing could get me ready for how savage my day was about to get. One of the wardrobe girls, Clare, approaches me,

'Is your name John?' she asks me.

'Yeah,' I say 'but nobody has ever called me that, why?'

She goes 'You know Alva?'

'Yeah, she's the other costume girl who was covering for people.'

'She has your passport.'

I'm like 'What?'

'Yeah,' Clare says, 'one of her room-mates accidentally took your coat on home from the Shaw on New Years Day.'

I swear I jumped off the stool and picked her up with joy. Get in there, how fucking random can you get. I have never seen anyone I work with in the Shaw, but supposedly she had gone home with my jacket which she was made to put on the bouncer in the Shaw, Bunk from the Wire as Paddy amazingly pointed out, he is the fucking image. Anyway, she went home, realised that she was wearing someone else’s jacket, pulled out my passport and went 'Fuck!' She showed the passport to her room-mate, who so happened to be working with me, and bing bang bosh, I get my fucking jacket back with passport and wallet intact – Get the fuck in there.

Robbing Jackets?

Just to be very clear. Yes, my jacket was nicked last night, I had this sweet dark navy suit jacket that I bought for the bargain price of 30 bills from the secret gem that is Lucy's Lounge in Temple Bar, and not to blow my own trumpet, I looked smokin in it. It was the type of jacket that was probably worth about five or six times the price it actually was. It kept you warm as hell, and for that reason, the only thing I had underneath was some t-shirt I nicked from Greg a few months ago.

I came into the Shaw after work, ready to rejoin my mates on there madgeouvit journey into the next decade. I was knackered from the night before, from Siobhan & Molly’s party on Bloomfield Ave. I had only had about 2 hours kip and was in the Gaiety to do Daisy for 1.30 but, at this stage, work was over and I felt a lovely second wind coming on. I strolled in, put my jacket and bag by the table where everyone was sitting, ordered myself two Long Island Ice Tea, in a pint glass and things were starting to look funky as fuck. My mates, Russell & Aaron were playing away, I can’t wait until they incorporate those dumb bells into their act. There I stood, side by side with Paddy & Greg, my playing catch up was going exactly to plan. I was on the road to fuckedness. Not, like, mental fuckedness, but just ‘havin the crack’ fuckedness.

When the music went off and they were kicking people out, a select few of us were invited to stay back for one last New Years pint. Tara had been drinking for two days so her stamina levels were dropping fast so it came to a point where it was going to be a taxi home followed by some serious 'Jacko Snuggles'. All of this would be definitely become a major priority over the next half an hour.

'Let's go home, Jack.'

'Okay, Hun, no worries. Just let me get my bag and coat.'

I see my bag under the table where I had left it. I pick it up, onto my back and I start a quick search for my jacket.

' . . . . . . . . . . Where is my jacket . . . . . . . .? . Where’s my jacket . . . . . . . . . . where the fuck is my jacket.’

I search high and low for the bastard, it is no where to be found and to make it worse, do you want to know what was in the pocket? My wallet and my passport.

Now, this opens another box of irritations, loosing the jacket on one of the chilliest nights of the year is one thing but when your fucking wallet and passport are inside the fucker, it is about as deadly as getting fisted by a silverback.

Actually, the jacket is not much of a loss, I could probably head into Lucy’s Lounge tomorrow and get another one, and better one at that for cheaper but the wallet and passport. Shit Buzz.

First off, My Wallet, now, this is one of the most important thing a man can have, it is our bag, everything is inside it. I had very little cash in it, if any but I did have a load of receipts for work, which I will have to write up and worst of all, all my cards, social security card, savings account card (like that cards has ever been useful) and you know what? I was starting to like it. I had it that long that it was filled with character. Now that I think about it, it’s the longest I’ve ever had a wallet.

Then there is the passport which is another seventy squid. I’m going to Berlin next month so I’m gonna have to get that over the next while. In fact, I think I’m gonna have a bit of trouble get one for the fact that I have lost the last few.

Who the fuck steals a jacket? Hey, I know, it was cold and the person was probably didn’t have a coat, which, if I think about it, is even worse. I walked home in a t-shirt and I’m probably going to have a lovely cold to look forward to as well. I would never steal a jacket, well, I do remember nabbing that slick brown leather jacket from the Gaiety lost property area but that was different, they were there for over a year.

Anyway, I’m gonna get a poster going in the Shaw. Hopefully, the person will take pity on me and return my jacket which carries in it my wallet and passport. The poster will read –

Jacket Taken Last New Years Day @ The Shaw

If the person who accidentally took my navy suit jacket, which also so happened to have a passport with the name – John Olohan on it (Please, the John is a long story) and a fawn coloured wallet inside it and he or she feels they would like to return the jacket to it’s rightful owner, they could drop it into the Shaw or you can call me on 086 lick my hairy balls.

If you feel that it was a great steal and that this fine piece of clothing is a perfect new addition to your wardrobe, well, know this. I will find you. I will not sleep.