Heroin Hiccups #1: Fires & Explosions

The heroin life can often be a rollercoaster ride. When it is hard it is hell, though when it is easy, it’s very VERY easy. But in between the highs and the lows there are the ‘loop the loops’ - the often comic and shambolic mishaps and adventures that arrive with the junkie life. In a series of broken posts titled Heroin Hiccups I will detail the bizarre events that have littered my own addiction. They range from the near tragic to the unbelievable, and from runs of bad luck to acts of breathtaking stupidity. Along with one far from fatal overdose, two apartment fires, and an elderly neighbour falling through my door dead, I’ve also had a deer escape from me in central London, a 3am police visit whilst outside trying to recapture my fly away Cockatoos, & an emergency visit to the vets after my dog swallowed a 16th of an ounce of heroin. I’ve had junkies try to sell me everything from monkey meat to kingsize duvets, and have witnessed one exploding kitchen. If one puts that little lot together, chucks in a few close scrapes and seasons with shotgun wielding crackheads, then you’ve got yourself a wonderful book. But this is not a book, it’s a blog post and so for now we will concentrate on the sparks: the fires and explosions.

I suppose setting one’s bed alight must be a very common Heroin Hiccup. Due to the drugs sedative qualities addicts are forever dropping lit cigarettes onto the floor, the sofa, the bed, and themselves. The large burn holes in a junkies clothes are often the sign of a nighttime panic to put oneself out. Along with the obvious scars from shooting, the addict is often littered with neck and chest burns and blisters... another little clue for an eagle eyed observer.

My first bedtime fire was a very mild affair. A dropped cigarette, a light sheet and a fan on low power... Just the right mix of ingredients to further heat up an already warm summer night - me awoken from slumber by my cover burning my back. A well directed cup of cold tea later and it was all over... not much smoke and save having to reverse the mattress and buy a new sheet, an undamaged bed. My next fire however would be a completely different affair.

In very similar circumstances, but this time in France, I awoke to flames and pluming black smoke. My first thought was that I had died and had been sentenced, but unfortunately it was not so... just another dropped cigarette, from another junkie onto another bed on another night. This time, however, it wasn’t so minor... it was way past the stage where a cold cup of Tetleys could get me out of jail free. And as the fumes, smoke and particles found their way up my nose and down my throat it suddenly hit me: I NEED WATER!!! I leapt out off bed, but due to smoke and fume inhalation whilst sleeping I found I was completely dizzyheaded and unstable. In my comical fumble to pull on my trousers I ended up doing the potato sack dance before falling and bashing my head on the dresser and ripping open my leg... but my mind was so intent on getting the fire out that in the moment I felt neither. I scrambled to my feet and staggered to the bathroom. On returning with a mop bucket full of water the disaster had escalated and now the entire bed was burning and smoking intensely... so much so that I had to retreat. I searched frantically for my painting mask, but running consistently with the mess that I am, it was nowhere to been found. My last memory was taking it off, chucking it over my shoulder and muttering “Fucking thing!” With time at a minimum and no mask in sight, I wrapped a cravat around my mouth and nose, retook my red bucket and for the second time that morning I went firefighting.

Of course, one bucket of water was useless... I chucked it on and with barely a sizzle the fire blazed on. If anything, the breeze made whilst chucking the water seemed to have worsened it. I started to panic... I grabbed anything at hand: saucepans, bowls, buckets and started filling them simultaneously. In the meantime I ripped the end of the shower unit and stretching it as far as it would go, I turned the water up full hilt and stood shooting water into the bedroom. After a few minutes of this and so many buckets and pans of water later the flames had beat a retreat, though the bed was still smouldering and smoke was pouring furiously from the mattress. As I could no longer breathe in any room of the apartment I rushed around opening all the windows.

As the bed was still smouldering furiously I continued with my water operation. Just as I was heading back to the bedroom with my latest bucket of water, the door rang. It was my upstairs neighbour who having seen and smelt the smoke had come down to see what was happening. I told her that all was fine and under control, but the popping of the mattress as it once again burst into flames and the thick black smog that bellowed from the bedroom sent her into complete hysteria. “You need the Fire Brigade!” She screamed.. “...the whole building will go up!”

“No, no.. it’s all under control... it’s all in hand. It just looks much worse than it is, that’s all.”

“But the smoke!?! Look, look... it’s too much... it’s TOO much!”

“No... That’s a good sign... It’s the flames you’ve got to worry about...” I wanted to add that when you see the smoke through the flames it’s serious, but when you see the flames through the smoke it’s under control... But I never got the chance. She was gone, hurrying back upstairs. I slammed the door and dashed back to the bedroom, throwing another couple of buckets of water across the re-ignited bed.

I heard the sirens from a distance.... I was hung out the kitchen window sucking fiercely on a cigarette. “Fuck! She’s only gone and called the Fire Brigade!” It was a fuck situation as my kitchen table was littered with needles, small aluminium cups and filters... my gear was poured out on a tea saucer and sitting innocently in the kitchen cupboard. I made a frantic rush to clear the paraphernalia away, sweeping all into a large grey bin bag and chucking alongside the other rubbish that was waiting for disposal. As the sirens came to a stop I went and looked out the living room window to see what was taking place outside. Down below, were two fire trucks and behind them on the opposing side of the street had gathered a small crowd. They were gawping up and pointing and counting windows and shaking their heads... I’m sure it came as no surprise to themthat it was my heroinhead that finally emerged from the smoke filled apartment window on the 3rd floor, smiling and with a cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth. I gave them a little wave, smile and shrug and then held the cigarette up and gave it a little shake as if to say: “I’m Innocent... it was this little fella’s fault.” As I looked down, my upstairs neighbour emerged from the building holding a sack of belongings and followed by her two children and dog. As they were leaving the firemen were rushing in. I made my way to open the apartment door, but not before seeing an ambulance roll onto the scene... “Shit... that means the police will also be on their way!”

I opened my door and stepped calmly outside. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just.....” They didn’t listen nor let me finish. Pushed me aside and barged in like some specially trained crack team... small fire extinguishers in hand. I chased in behind them. In the bedroom there was still masses of smoke but no smouldering or flames... that didn’t stop them though. They proceeded to systematically soak the ENTIRE room: my clothes, shoes, walls and ceiling... Only satisfied when water was dripping from the lightbulb. As I turned around in disgust and annoyance, my mouthful of classic British obscenities bounced off the chest of the first of two policemen. I just pushed past ignoring their, “Monsieur... Monsieur!” and went and sat in the living.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I was questioned by the police and fire brigade (a neighbour and friend helped as at that time my french was very poor). Once they were satisfied that the fire was out and that it had been an accident they left me to the clean up, but not before giving me a lecture about the perils of smoking in bed and flogging me a smoke alarm!. My neighbour asked if I needed help and breaking the habit of a lifetime I conceded and said “Yes, I do... BIG TIME. I explained that my wife would be home at 6.00pm and that I needed to clean the bedroom and buy a new mattress and shower unit before she returned. My idea was to cover up everything and not breathe a word. OK, the bedroom would be dripping wet, but I’d explain that away by saying I had awoken with the cleaning bug and so scrubbed the floor, walls and ceiling... No problem, she’d swallow that. The reason for the cover up was one of self-pride.... She’d always said that one day I would do this, and I hate proving people right.... especially her!

After a 20 minute bathroom break and just as I was pulling on my jeans, I heard the key turn in the door... that dreaded sound that arrives when in someway you are shitting on your own doorstep. With that key turn the gates of hell swept open and she was there... I’d been rumbled, caught with my trousers down (again!). It transpired that the Property agency had phoned her enquiring about details of the fire and wanting to arrange an immediate visit to survey the damage. I could only pull a ridiculous grin, and then grimace and then get angry. I think I shouted something about it being her fault “for buying cheap sheets!”... Yes, I blamed it on her. But she was having none of it... instead she just calmly poked her head around the bedroom door and then went and sat down at the kitchen table and cried. And then I felt bad... and then I asked my neighbour to leave.

The outcome of it all was, we were given a 3 months notice of eviction, lost our first month deposit and in addition had to pay €1000 in damages and repair costs. I never bothered to contest this, even though it was only an estimate. I paid and we made arrangements to leave. It had been an expensive cigarette and a very narrow escape. I did make some half-hearted apologies to my wife and promised to quit smoking in bed... but she knows me too well and just nodded and scoffed. We didn’t wait the three months, we searched another apartment immediately and within the month we had moved out and into our new and current apartment.

But as with all Heroinhead's, mishap is never far away and it wasn’t long before an exploding oven blew my poor wife halfway across the kitchen and straight into a bed in Accident & Emergency. Once again she was to blame... it was her fault that I had cut the gas at the mains before killing the flames! The result was that when she went to cook supper later that evening, she was using the hob blissfully unaware that the oven was leaking into the open at gas mark 8. After 20 minutes the gas had filled the oven and had began escaping up the back of the cooker. Just as she was adjusting the pan on the hob the inevitable happened...

Whilst nodding in the living room I was brought around by an almighty bang from the kitchen. I leapt into action only to find my wife staggering dazed and drunkenly down the hallway... the oven door was strewn across the kitchen floor along with a medium sized saucepan and half a packet of bow shaped pasta (not quite al dente.) When she had come down from the shock she explained what had happened. She rolled up her trousers and said that when the oven door was blown from it’s hinges it had smashed into her leg... though she was adamant that all was fine. As the hours passed her leg reddened and started swelling and burning intensely. Finally, at gone midnight, and in quite a bit of pain, we left for the hospital. It turned out that her kneecap was severely bruised and that the heat had hit her with such force that it had penetrated the skin and had burnt the muscle and flesh underneath. She was put through to the Special Burns Unit where they creamed and wrapped her and kept her in for monitoring. I stayed overnight to keep her company.

As we went over what had happened, our first thoughts were that the cooker was at fault... that it was old and had sprung a leak. It was only during he 150th re-analysis of the evenings events, when she asked: “But when you finished cooking earlier tonight did you turn the gas off by the mains without cutting the oven?” that it all finally clicked and we realised conclusively that she was at fault again:

“But you’ve got to check these things!” I screamed... “YOU KNOW WHAT I’M LIKE!” And not for the first time, she gave a forlorn look down towards the ground, and with eyes as cold and as sterile as the stainless steel hospital units she muttered, “That’s just the problem.”


This post is dedicated to Kat Skratch... A loyal and dedicated member of the Shredded Heart Club. x

http://katesparrow.blogspot.com/
Take care readers & if you can only be one thing... be careful!
My very Best Wishes, Shane. x

47 comments :

Nikita said...

Is it wrong that I'm sitting here giggling? I can't help it. I'm sorry, I know fire isn't funny. I think it was because you even told us what type of pasta it was that was blown across your kitchen! God I need to get a grip.

Then again... if I told you all the ways I had frantically tried to get blood out of my mother's carpet you might harbour a giggle too.

Much love.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Nikita,

Thanks as always for your contribution, & of course it's not wrong to laugh... that's why I wrote it as I did.

OK, there's a serious side to it, but it never came to that and so no harm done.

Blood from your mothers carpet... thzt sounds all TOO familiar! lol The arguments i've had with my mum over that... Ouch!!

I hope you're well Nikita... All my Love & Thoughts, Shane. x

B. Zombie [Vanessa] said...

Thank god I never had a fire incident! x) but, yeah, just like Nikita said, It was a funny post to read. anyway, I'm glad it all ended okay, and nobody got some serious problems/injuries due to those incidents.
Be more careful next time. heheeh

kiss kiss
Take care
Stay strong

Vanessa

Lou said...

I have awoken to unknown pit bulls walking on my treadmill, my huge car being "misplaced", strangers eating ramen noodles in my living room at 3:00am, a naked girl hiding in my closet, a rare albino alligator in my bathtub, dinner guests getting poked in the ass by burned spoons hidden under seat cushions...well, the brevity goes on and on.

Having lived through many heroin related "mishaps" in my own home, I'm just not as amused anymore.

Kat Skratch said...

Oh Shane! :D

Thanks for your wonderful words and the laughs! The dedication meant the word to me!

I can't entirely relate, I've never set anything on fire, though sometimes my cooking leaves something to be desired...

I'm afraid I will be a member of the shredded heart club for life, but I'm ok with that.

No more lighting yourself on fire darling. That would seriously be a damper on our day. (I say ours because I'm not the only one who follows you... ;)

Shane, you rock my world and I just think you're amazing. You should be writing AND painting for a living...

Can't wait for the next installment. :D

Kat

Welsh-Londoner said...

Ahh, mon cher ami!

I laughed too hard, and I'm not going to apologise for it, cause I am without doubt totally British in my humour in that tragic moments are rife with comedy and pathos. And you tell it so well it's hard not laugh. Kind of like a farce... seriously funny.

And one day I may actually not be working when you call me. ;-)

A. xx

p.s. the comment about the dog and swallowing of drugs cracked me up. I'm sure I already knew about this... it was Max, yeah?

Nikita said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Nikita said...

Oh good.
For my mother... best present I ever got her (at her admission) was a black rug! I learnt to either be very careful... or do 'it' over the rug! lol Then again - if anyone gets anything on my carpet, I react in a startlingly mother-like way.

I'm fine... lots of love. xxx

sKILLz said...

First I HAVE to respond to Lou:
Yo lou that is some funny Shit I'm sorry.
I don't know what I would have done with finding a naked girl in a closet, well maybe I do, however it is funny.

sKILLz said...

Shane I have also had some very close encounters and hiccups as well myself. I thank GOD that it never got that far.
I always seemed to catch it right before it got too bad.
Yes I have scars from cigarette burns from falling too deep into a nod many nights...
All in all I'm glad that your ok, and safe as am I...
Stay Up!

Longy said...

Shane that was another great read I had a good laugh reading that. I'm ashamed to say every smoke alarm in my home has its battery removed due to my cooking....but I don't smoke in bed anymore due to a couple close escapes myself :-)

Put The Lotion In The Basket said...

It's 7.00 o'clock.
in half an hour we have another edition of Eastenders, where Lou and Sheerri are still coming to terms with living in a bigamus reelationship with a rabbit. First however we have that popular situation comedy the heroinheads, just sit back and enjoy.
Hey you Take Care Ya Hear
Love Nick

Kat Skratch said...

I'm sending kisses... The very opposite of death threats...

:*

K

mikimbizi said...

giggle inducing, fascinating.. why isnt this blog made into a book? Life around me looks drab and insipid compared to urs...:)

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

V. Zombie,

Thanx as ever for your comment... & glad the post made you smile.

I'll try and be more careful (but the blog won't be as much fun!) :(

Take care V, Shane.x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Lou,

You've had some wonderful Heroin Hiccups... puts mine to shame.

Yeah, they lose their humour when you're always the one on the opposite end... but even he greatest joke wears off when one hears it too much.

All my best, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya My Brooklyn Homie,

yeah, can only laugh along with you... Lou's run-down of heroin Hiccups was pretty funny!! lol

Glad you've not had any burnt beds or exploding ovens, thoughg i'm sure you've many great stories in other ways.

Will mail you as soon as I'm through here... all my love to You, G & The Brooklyn Dogs, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Longy mate,

The batteries removed from the smoke alarms!!! lol

Though on a serious note it is a real problem that they go off whilst cooking & you're not the first I know of who's done that.

So you've stopped 'smoking' in bed??? Don't you think that's a little TOO personal to go putting about publicly. Maybe you should go see a doctor??? lol

Hope you're well mate... all my best, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Andrew,

Well I'm glad you enjoyed and I'm even more delighted that you make no apologies for it. You write yourself so I think it's easier for you to understand when someone is being intentionally humourous with their words and phrases.

Yes it was Max, but it was many years after White City so i think you're referring to another ocassion when he ate a lump of hash and then ripped Joe's arm to shreds (after Joe had kicked him!)

Dommage, pour les missed telephone calls.... le prochain fois, hey.

All my wishes, mon ami... Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Nikita,

For my mother... best present I ever got her (at her admission) was a black rug! I learnt to either be very careful... or do 'it' over the rug! lol This is EXACTLY what I had to do as well... really bizarre!!! lol

x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Kat,

Well what can I say to that! You've embarrassed me!!! lol

I'll go easy on setting myself ablaze... I'll try and restrict it to once a week or so. Though if I spontaneously self-combust... well, there's nothing I can do about that. ;)

The Shredded Heart Club ~ Where membership is free & for life!

I do paint & write for a living... that's why my living's so bad (I don't sell any of it.)

Love, wishes & kisses returned... Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

hey ya Nick!!!

Glad you're enjoying... it makes it all worthwhile.

I'm almost back on top of things again, so will be able to once again partake in your own wonderful blog!!!

All my love, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Mikimbizi,

hey ya & thanks for your time & words.

I've read your blog and there's nothing drab about it... To read somebody so confidently speak their mind & opinions is never boring. So have no fears on that score.

As the old saying goes: It's the way you tell 'em!

My thanx once again... Take care & best wishes, Shane. x

Nikita said...

Wow, that is odd. x

Syd said...

Shane, my immediate sympathy was for your wife. I guess I've been where she was. It hurt like hell. Sorry but nothing funny for me in this tale. Just a lot of old pain.

Welsh-Londoner said...

Hi, my very dear friend.

Ah yes, I do believe it is that time I'm recalling. Joe was one of those lodgers I didn't much care for, right? I seem to remember the blood all over his leg quite well. Fun times! ;-)

Pourquoi les dommages pour les appels manqués? Aucun dommage fait, mon vieil ami. Tout mauvais timing. Il est tout bon.

Jusqu'à ce que plus tard, A. xx

p.s.

Et je suis très tentée de faire mon prochain message à tous les Français confondent votre bloggers.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Syd,

Thanks & respect for what you've commented, beause they're my thoughts as well & that's why I purposely ended on a twinge of sadness from my wife's point of view.

Still, we laugh and cry through this life together and that's why I can post such things. There are other tales that would certainly even the score... but you'll have to wait for them! ;)

Hope you're well over there & that the post didn't bring back too bad a reminiscence... My very best wishes, Shane.

Nikita said...

Welsh Londoner - Je suis désolé de vous décevoir, mais je parle français aussi. De temps en temps...
;)

Welsh-Londoner said...

Bonjour, Nikita!

Bon pour vous. Je ne suis pas, pas vraiment. Mais je n'ai merveilleuse méthode de traduction. ;-)

A. xx

Nikita said...

Bonjour A

Vous êtes un tricheur! Ne vous inquiétez pas, je suis trop parfois...L'Internet est fantastique - améliorez qu'un 'A Level'!

xxx

Welsh-Londoner said...

Hi there, Nikita...

Oui, elle l'est. J'ai été à bonne école en français, mais j'ai quitté l'école il ya vingt ans, et les Français n'ont pas rester avec moi. Et ce n'est pas tricher, il fait usage de resrouces disponibles.

And thus endeth the French talk. English in my major... ;-)

A. x

Greta said...

Uh...no, not funny. Just ... odd, a little bizarre? Hehe. This one leaves the reader worried, I guess. I felt a lot with your wife, too, this time.
On my own route of booze I had a fingertip chopped off by a bread slicing machine, a tooth knocked out by a bottleneck (accidentally self-inflected) and my last glorious achievment was a flush of boiling water swept on my leg.
And one time I tried to repair a broken lightbulb, not losing one thought about live wire. Thank God I lost interest after like 2 seconds of trying, realizing you can't actually repair a broken lightbulb. Touch wood, no fire so far. My carpet looks insane though, I guess I might have been a little bit lucky. Things like these just happen when whatever you're on makes you way too zen to notice.

Burnt skin is evil, your wife must have gone through hell. How is her leg nowadays?

Always take a fire drencher to bed, ok ;-)?
Her Boil Highness, Greta
(Looking forward to that new series!)

Gledwood said...

dear me this sounds hopelessly inconvenient ~ like a sketch of my own life...

I, when I'm high, suffer from something (apparently) called "mycolonic jerks"

this is when you dream you're falling and wake with a JOLT thinking, well at least no-one else noticed...

except they DO! bc I've punched my exes in the face many a time.. they find it hilarious

hmmm...

Nikita said...

Gledwood... there's a name for that?!

ryan field said...

Hi Shane...another good post.

Ryan

Sarcastic Bastard said...

Shane,
Your wife sounds like a fucking saint to me.

I was so tired from moving the other night that I laid a smoldering cig down somewhere (I know not where) in my cousin's house. Luckily, I didn't burn anything down.

To close calls,

SB

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

SB,

After two miracles one can be declared a saint... my wife has witnessed 4 and there's another due later this year. (No she's not pregnant... she want's me to quit heroin for 2 weeks so as we can go on holiday).

Hope all's fine SB.. Love & thoughts, Shane. x

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Gledwood,

That's hilarious... It's also happened to me (though I've never clobbered anyone because of it!!) lol

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Greta,

My wife's fine now.. she was fine by the morning. they kept her in just to be extr cautious & probably to give her a nights rest from me... except I ws there!!! lol

Once when drunk I hung from the balcony of an apartment on the 15th floor... but it almost turned into trazgedy when I realised I wasn't strong enough to pullmyself back up. Luckily I ahd some friends around,a nd by the time they had pulled me in I was stone cold sober!!!never doing that again!

Hope you're well Greta... thoughts & wishes, Shane. x

Herbert Barry Woodrose said...

Dude... hilarious. Fire? I love fire humor. Even when it probably wasn't funny. You were going to stand there in a pool of your own sweat and explain that you had literally washed the whole room. Classic.

I don't entirely understand the "gas from the mains" thing - I'm used to ovens and stoves that light with a flip of one knob. I do however get the gist of what you are describing - something similar happened to my mother when I was about 3 or 4. I still remember it. I can't help laugh when I think of it even though it was a terrible memory. I tend to laugh at hilarious terrible memories.

So let me tell you, this had me in stitches. vv
talk to you soon

Veronica said...

I like the way you write, so detailed like its part of some wild novel. I almost burned down my friends apartment while nodding out one night a few years back. Thankfully now in the states they have new cigarettes that go out quickly on their own if you don't smoke them fast enough!

kelly Al-Saleh said...

To b
or not to b
that IS the question...

Beds on fire? Aye, a familiar story... every blankey I own has one or 2 cigarette burns in them. I also burnt a crater in my mattress once. Turned it over to hide it. Burnt numerous carpets too, have learnt the art of cutting tufts from one end to superglue in the burnt bits.

My pal Alex made me promise not to smoke in bed after tooting. But even if you're sitting up on the couch it happens. He's convinced I'm going to kill myself in a fire one of these days.

Edie Sedgewick was famous for setting the Chelsea Hotel a blaze but she didn't just have ciggys on the go, candles too.

The other dangerous thing I've done is 'sleep walking'. I'd suddenly come to in a room I didn't start off in and wonder how I got there. Or in the morning I'd find odd things in the fridge like my mobile phone?! Good times heh heh!

xxKellyxx

Kat Skratch said...

On the myoclonic jerk-

Your body has a certain way of shutting down slowly, your heart rate and breathing I mean. Sometimes it shuts things a little too quickly and your body thinks it's dying, so it sends an electrical impulse to the muscles to say wake up! Don't die! And that's the sensation when you startle awake. :)
I am well versed in sleep things haha.

Ok Shane, I'm getting on your ass again. I need a new post! My life is lame when I don't have a memoir to read! Please! I'm addicted! X) lol.

Kisses.

Kat

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya Herbert,

The mains is a knob which is used to cut the gas of from the apartment. Normally it is used only by tecnicians. However, in france they have this weird system where the mains knob is besides the cooker (I think due to it being al apartments here). So, to be extra careful I cut the gas off. Unfortunately I hadn't stopped the fire in the oven, so when the gas mains was opened late, gas was pouring unignited from the cooker.. and BANG!!!

I got my wrists slapped for that post!!!lol... my poor wife. ;)

My very best to you, Shane.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Kelley,

Sleepwalking: as long as you don't find a shit in the corner of the room.. dont worry about it! lol

xx

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Veronica,

Excuse the delay in replying. Thanks for your comment.

So let m understand this: to stop your cigarettes going out you have to smoke them quickly... hence they go quicker and you have to buy more!! ;) That' a scam any junkie would be proud of... maybe we should apply for jobs in the tobacco industry.

Best wishes, V

Shane. x

Anonymous said...

Hiya HH,
Smoke roll ups!
This is the answer, they go out!
We've had no fires, just a bed like a LUNAR LANDSCAPE, More Holes Than Duvet!
By the way, You are published, I read part of this entry in the Kingston Informer's London Blog, Page 16 Friday June 12th 2009.

You're so funny, but as I've found out, there is pain in a life of Heroin, but It's never Dull.
Good Luck & Best Wishes,
CJ