Sunday, 24 January 2016
Poppers and me
It was clear to me over a decade ago that this would happen. I saw them for sale in the newsagent on Bethnal Green Road where I would go to purchase my copy of The Lady, a pint of semi-skimmed milk, and a Mars bar. The writing was on the wall.
The current bill is a very real consequence of assimilation.
I first encountered the drug in question when I was seventeen. In a flat in Knightsbridge, just behind Harrods. They came in a glass phial which you had to snap open (pop), inhale and... The occasion is memorable not just for the amyl nitrate but because the man I was shagging was from the Eastern Orthodox tradition. He had the Blessed Sacrament reserved in his bedroom. First (and to my best recollection) the only time I have fucked with Jesus in the room.
There are other stories.
The man who contrived for me to shag with a porn star whilst he watched. Overcome with excitement and desire, I spilt a bottle on a carpet that cost more than I have ever earned in a year.
The brief fashion for dipping the end of your cigarette in a bottle before lighting it. (It took few conflagrations for that fashion to die out).
Poppers give me a headache. I don't like how my friends and partners use them. I hate how many gay men use them as an 'excuse' to do things they otherwise believe they couldn't.
I have no idea of the economics of their production but I suspect I wouldn't like them if I did.
However, I will be fucked before I sit quietly and let this ridiculous legislation pass.
It is an attack on my story.
Up with that I will not put.