The swing-doors of perception
AFTERTHOUGHT
JOHN WELLS -
One of the world's most notorious drug-sodden pop tycoons raised eyebrows privately in Soho this week by admitting that he was in the grip of a new and hideously addictive substance be- side which conventional drugs were mere aspirin and alka-seltzer, and asking underworld friends 'if they knew where you could get hold of Ouzo in London.' Does this mark the begin- ning of a dramatic reversal of current fashion- able trends, a crucial revolution in teenage sexual mores? R. Larry O'Filth-grubber of the controversial Sunday Telegraph hopes that it does. After all, the usual old rubbish about drugs is getting a bit flat, and we all have to make a living . . .
They call it simply 'the stuff,' the hard stuff.' For many young degenerates, the pathetic flot- sam and wreckage of our so-called affluent society, it represents the only escape from a world that has grown too terrible to bear. An escape into a world of make-believe, of rosy visions and erotic hallucinations, a world where the consciousness expands, and eventually ex- plodes. A shimmering Nirvana-style never- never land for the teenager of the late 'sixties, bored and jaded with the petty restrictions of modern life, the suburban pleasures of LSD, opium and heroin. The Home Office is already believed to be alarmed at its widespread use among young guardsmen, pop-singers and students, many of them teenage girls living alone in bed-sittingrooms. Now the Reverend Roland Mould, sixty-seven, writing in his parish maga- zine Hassock, has come out with-an open con- demnation of the menace. He calls it 'the Demon Drink.'
For years the police have been aware of a sinister network of shady men, some of them fabulously wealthy, who manufacture the sub- stance for profit, exploiting the dumb misery of the so-called `drunkies' dependent on their daily 'nip' or 'noggin.' Some are known to high society, leaving their Factories of Death in re- mote parts of Ireland and Scotland to pass themselves off as city gents, even mingling with members of the aristocracy at race meet- ings and fashionable functions. Police have also kept a close watch on the 'pushers,' many of them ex-Royal Air Force and Army personnel who have found it difficult to make the adjust- ment to civilian life, 'bent' policemen, and 'hos- tesses' on the fringe of the twilight world of organised vice. Until now the Government's attitude has been tolerant, partly because of the enormous proportion of the profits that finds its way into the public purse, and partly because the addicts have in the past been elderly 'drop- outs,' partial mental invalids, or individuals who would have found normal life impossible without such solace.
Now the habit has become fashionable with the young. Following the example of 'pop' idols like Worzel Gummidge and the Varmints, Mad Madge Flanagan, the Paddywaggon, and Rup- tured Jack Hardwicke and the Saloon Bar Five, teenagers all over the country have taken to 'drink' with a dedicated enthusiasm that has loft the police, church workers and sociologists reel- ing. 'It has certainly left me reeling,' bespec- tacled church worker Daphne Simms told me as she swept up the wreckage of her G-Plan sit- ting room furniture after a meeting of the St Winifred's (Surbiton) Young Life Campaign Junior Bible Study Group, 'give 'ern a whiff of
Tio Pepe and they go barmy.' Social workers too are baffled by the suddenness of the teen-
age 'blow-out.' Formerly,' I was told by grave Harvard alcoholics expert Jason Verandah, 'we were able to accommodate the older addicts in special clubs where they could meet other suf- ferers of a similar social background without causing embarrassment or inconvenience to normal members of the community—the Athenaeum, the Stepney Working Men's and so on—but now teenage "drunkies" are erupting everywhere, anywhere : there's even a waiting list to get into White's.'
Unlike other hallucinatory substances, 'the hard stuff' is taken orally, usually mixed with some flavouring to take away the unpleasant taste of the raw liquid. Some addicts in an advanced stage of 'expanded consciousness' attempt to introduce it through the nostril or
the ear, but this has not generally proved sue- cessf ul. The immediate symptoms, after a 'snifter' or minimal dose, are a feeling of mild euphoria, combined in most subjects with an increased sexual awareness. As the process of getting 'high' continues, the effects vary with different individuals: some become garrulous, possessed of the illusion of great mental clarity, some grow silent and morose, pursued-in their befuddled dreams by nightmare spectres or 'mothers-in-law,' occasionally jerking upright to give a terrified scream and then slumping back into a miserable silence: some become convinced that they have superhuman strength, unusual sexual powers or exquisite grace in the dance. All these illusions evaporate however when put to the test, and the addict invariably ends up lying on the floor, twitching frenziedly and in some cases reverting to infantile be- haviour patterns. Withdrawal systems are acute, taking the form of soreness behind the eyes, inflammation of the stomach wall, and crippling headaches.
In spite of this, and the inflated prices charged by manufacturers and pushers, the teenage 'soaks' appear to be insatiable in their desire for more. At one 'party' I attended last week, teenagers reeled and slobbered to the erotic movements of the 'Hokey-kokey' and the 'Lam- beth Walk' as a balding singer, clearly 'high,' bawled the words through a microphone to the accompaniment of a befuddled female pianist. One fat youth, dressed in a Worzel Gummidge smock, red neckerchief and buttoned knee- boots, was chuckling to himself pathetically, reaching out to pinch and caress any young girl within reach, and indiscriminately embracing women, men, an elderly spaniel and an inflated 'Yogi Bear' beach toy. Another, with shoulder- length hair and a reddened nose, put the terrible predicament of the young Arunkies' to me more clearly than any statistics ever could : he was having what he described as a 'bad trip,' and had just vomited recklessly and at length from a first floor window. 'It's terrible,' he told me, 'I'm still on the soft stuff—Cidrax, Baby- cham, Sanatogen—but give me a couple more years,' and here his bloodshot eyes shrank to pinheads of dread, 'and I could end up looking like you.'
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