Beau Bo D’Or

Live and let live/die.

I don’t mind folk who participate in the odd recreational drug (although they need to think long and hard who has suffered on their favoured substance’s ‘passage’ from cultivation to street) but when the users or dealers make your life a misery then there needs to be effective action to protect those who don’t want anything to do with the scene.

Sometimes the effect can be a little indirect on the non user. I became used to having ’skunk’ whispered in my ear everytime I went down the high street, prompting me to frequently rush off and buy cans of anti-perspirant/deodorant.

Then…silence.

The other day, the dealers were still about but no-one whispered in my ear - a rare form of social contact I had started to appreciate having little funds to indulge in getting hammered down the pub. (Being on the dole for a while, my only communication with other humans was to say ‘No, I don’t have a Nectar card’ to the checkout girl and, if I was lucky, a nod of appreciation from the person behind me in the queue to whom I donated the Nectar points that I would have earned if I had a card.)

So, the dealers had given up on me - They’d got the message. Or were they sending me a message?

Thinking about it, I’ve realised that, astute marketers that they are, they realise I fall outside their desired demographic profile.

I look too old. Bastards..

Revenge ?

Well, if they can’t be nicked for possession or dealing, maybe they can get done for selling goods in imperial measures - Do they still sell in quarter ounces?

Shit, I am too old.