Quote Of The Day

"Victory goes to the player who makes the next-to-last mistake - Chessmaster Savielly Grigorievitch Tartakower (1887-1956)"

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

Brixton Rare...
(Can you keep a secret? Can you? The term Brixton Rare doesn't appear in Google. Well, it doesn't appear as I am writing this anyways - but maybe that will change when the google-bots get me. Oh, no! Not the google-bots!)

On my journey up to Brum on Friday afternoon I sat next to a man, Grant - Irish, straight, blue eyes and gorgeous. Naturally enough we got talking. I say 'naturally' not because I was trying to chat him up or anything but because he had the gift of the gab. In fact he didn't stop talking for the whole journey. He'd not so much kissed the Blarney Stone as deep throated it. But he was pleasant enough so I didn't mind.

We talked about everything - his travels, my travels, his sons, my dead cat, his ex-wife, my XDA and (once I'd told him I was gay) his trips to gay clubs. Eventually conversation got round to pills and dope. Not that I partake anymore you understand but Grant had an interesting tale to tell. He told me about a service called Brixton Rare based - surprise, surprise - in Brixton.

The service is run by two men who will deliver dope to your front door. You simply call them up and tell them what you want - Afgan, South African, Columbian whatever - and it is hand delivered pre-weighed and stapled close (with a special tamper-free staple) to 'guarantee' purity. Whatsmore, £2 of every purchase is donated to one of two hard drugs misuse charities. You choose which one you want it to go to at time of delivery. You can get their telephone number only by recommendation by an existing customer. Grant tried to give me the number but I refused. Sadly the service only runs in Southawk and I though moving there too higher price to pay.

So how's that for free enterprise? Grooming themselves for full legalisation, perhaps?

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