#38 Heed the tale of Tony and the liquid morphine

Your mum will give you the drugs talk.  I will support whatever she says, but that is a mum talk, not an auntie talk.  I will tell you a story about drugs, and you can draw your own thoughts.

I’m 23.  Your mum is 21.  I’m in my final year at university and in three years, your mum has never been to visit me in deepest darkest Devon, so she climbs in the silver Ford KA and road trips it down to me for the weekend.  We have had a lovely time, and all too soon, Sunday afternoon is upon us.  Well, what better way to mark the end of a lovely weekend than with a few 3pm vodka cocktails? We’ve been to Morrisons, we’ve got supplies.  We’re in the huge kitchen in my halls: your mum’s chopping strawberries and plums, I’m crushing ice, then my very dear friend Tony walks in.  (His name is not really Tony, but, for the sake of this blog, it is.) Tony is one of the loveliest guys you’ll ever meet.  He’s kind, generous, helpful, funny and supportive.  He’s also got his hands on some liquid morphine.

“Afternoon girls.  Can I interest you in a little drop of liquid morphine?”  He pulls a small bottle from his left hand pocket.

“But, Tony.  It’s three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.  What are you doing?”

“So is that a yes?”

I look at your mother, she looks at me.  It’s a unanimous:

“No.” (Thank you)

“Oh,” a look of realisation crosses Tony’s face.  “Don’t worry, I’ve got the anti-sickness pills.”  He pulls a small bottle from his right pocket.  I sigh, if only all life’s problems had an antidote:  Alice’s eat me, drink mes.

“Still no.” (Unanimous.)

“Well, if you change your mind, just ask.”

Tony stayed for a couple of vodka cocktails with us, and then we all headed to the pub for a final evening of adventures.  A couple of hours in, I noticed that Tony had disappeared.  I asked around; no one had seen him. We didn’t see Tony again that evening.  The next morning, while making hangover tea, my friend Burt (again, not his real name, but, for the sake of this blog, it is) comes in to the kitchen.

“Did you hear about Tony?”

“Oh no, what happened?”  I asked, hoping nothing terrible.

“We found him at five o’clock this morning, sticking out of a bush.”

“What?”

Tony had fallen asleep vertically in a bush.  Some of the boys from my halls were walking back at 5am and had noticed a pair of feet sticking out of a bush, and on pulling them (all four together) out tumbled a dazed and confused Tony, who looked briefly at them and then fell back to sleep.  They left him there until later when he woke up properly and then went back to walk him home.  He missed uni for the next two days.

So Lottie, listen carefully to all your mum has to offer on this topic.  And although perhaps an amusing story; heed the warning from the tale of Tony and the liquid morphine.

ImageMe and your ma in Devon, 2009

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