• I was on my way to the US embassy in Dublin with Lindsay to get her an Irish Visa, together with an American couple we had met on the way. We were a little lost, but Lindsay spotted the strange interlocking windows of the embassy and we headed towards them. I stopped on the way to say hello to an old schoolmate of mine called Philip, who was waiting for a bus. He said that he had just become a father. I congratulated him and then followed the others.

    We entered the embassy by the back door, and Lindsay and the others walked all the way around to the front to get in the queue for registration. I waited in a small room that people kept passing through on their way to and from registration - they stared at me as if I shouldn't be there. Eventually Lindsay came back and said that we had the wrong kind of paperwork and would have to come back another day. She didn't seem too worried though, because there were no other problems.

  • On our way out we passed through a strange downstairs room with some odd-looking people talking quietly. It seemed to be like an Amsterdam coffee house, with drug menus on the walls. SUddenly I remembered that we were on our way to a party, and I had to score! I was looking at a menu of "herbal highs", unable to decide if I wanted to try one. There was a herbal ecstasy concoction that was advertised as "Super Stoned!" but someone had scrawled beside it in biro, "Do not buy! It doesn't last."

    A bouncer at the door was annoying me, trying to get me to stand back from the entrance, so I told him to get his hands off me. I wandered over to one of the tables in the coffee house, where John, my old drug dealer from Leeds, was sitting. I asked if he could set me up with some grass, and he said no problem. I followed him into a back room where his son and daughter were playing with their pants off. The scene had shifted slightly, so that we were no longer in the coffee house, but at the party itself, in the house of a friend of mine.

    John's son had pissed all over the floor. While John was weighing out my grass, I got kitchen paper and a towel and I started to mop up the piss. For some reason I didn't mind doing this, though the smell was very heavy, and I started to retch. I wrung out the towel in a small white sink and came back, finding it hard to believe that one small boy could piss so much. Dave handed me my drugs, and I left the room with the cleaning job half-done.