tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post951759655455754707..comments2024-02-22T19:52:27.939+00:00Comments on The bad old days will end: The Sixties.It wasn't all Biba and revolution.rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08557920166206674182noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-42159774517117318262011-04-10T14:42:20.901+01:002011-04-10T14:42:20.901+01:00Too much really. My history says circa 1961, tabs....Too much really. My history says circa 1961, tabs. Maybe it's a dialect thing.Jemmy Hopehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11613242697482178552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-37506174052624427822011-04-09T14:06:16.377+01:002011-04-09T14:06:16.377+01:00As I said my experience my history. Nah mate it wa...As I said my experience my history. Nah mate it was blues in Notting Hill french blues (that nice provencal blue as opposed to Oxford or Navy blue) that is 25/50 mg drynamil if my memory serves me well. The black and greens were 100mg,still there was always the scripted methedrin to fall back on. The acid was often liquid form which we used to take by dipping a matchstick in the little brown bottle and sucking on the wood. Fuck knows how many doses that was. The bottle wash (which was a slug of beer to rinse out the bottle) was notorious for being unpredictable in strength, you could be off your face for days. The person who invented the micro dot should have got a Nobel Prize in mental health care. In those days if you were nicked stumbling around the streets of London spaced out you could end up sectioned. Most heroin addicts at that time were threatened with sectioning and I knew a few who were,we used to get the 207 bus to a big red brick asylum in Hounslow next to the AEC bus garage, and visit our lost mates.Nuff detail?Gitanenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-53303816984012077292011-04-09T11:55:22.745+01:002011-04-09T11:55:22.745+01:00Blues? I thought they were called 'tabs' i...Blues? I thought they were called 'tabs' in London, 'blues' up north.Jemmy Hopehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11613242697482178552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-67680010792536042472011-04-07T21:58:24.071+01:002011-04-07T21:58:24.071+01:00Never trust history yours or anybody else's. I...Never trust history yours or anybody else's. I do remember happy shoplifting afternoons in kensington high street and the little raggedy old lady in a rotten wooden booth who used to charge a toll for crossing the footbridge to eel pie island. These memories admittedly blurred by handfulls of green an blacks, blues, hearts and eventually acid are true to me. And that's as far asi want it to go. My experience, my history.Gitanenoreply@blogger.com