Know this: I’m sitting at Sidewalk Bar on the Strand in Sliema in Malta when I write this. I drink! And I miss my drugs…
I got this job, you see?
In a bloody betting company in Malta! Last month they gave me a few phonecalls wondering if I were the right man for the job. Being a gambler at heart, how could I refuse? I was broke and hungry for a new horizon. To forget the shit from the past, and even finish my Belfast book. You know, the kind of book that ex. wives, girlfriends and fiancees woulod dread. Because the Truth hurts. Nobody knows that better than a bloody writer who’s taken more drugs and booze in 5 years than most mortal people would do in a lifetime. And paid the dues for it as well. With broken dreams and the shit to go.
I was broke, and they wanted me to come in 5 days. Impossible I told them. The fact is that I wouldn’t even be able to afford a ride to the airport. So I let them wait for me yet another month.
So, the 22nd of March, at 09.45 in the morning I wake up to a new world, rolling a joint, getting ready for the ride. And the right drugs will in fact enhance the experience of going to a destiny unknown. High as a kite, my best friends try to keep the conversation alive as I’m having a constant out of body experience. Trying to stay focused on not screwing things up even before check-in at the airport. The drugs have been taking a hold even before we got in the car.
Not knowing what idiots who would hire me, I would meet the next day, my nerves were hanging in thick layers outside my body. As we were closing on to the airport, with the signs and all, I said “Shit! Let’s turn around and drive back!” The truth is, that Ståles marihuana and a safe couch where I could do my rantings in between my passing outs was a lot more tempting at that moment.
It’s like when yoy’re born. You get squeesed out of your mommys tummy, and you’re spending mkost of your life trying to get back in again. Or inside someone elses opening.
I checked in through a bloody automat, threw my lugagge et the check in counter. With 6 kilos overweight, it was no problem. I guess I charmed the chick behind the counter with my red bloodshot eyes and my Aussie hat.
Or maybe an assembled population was just so glad to get rid of me, that they’d pay to get me the hell out of the City of Python. Which is a lot worse than Bin City (Belfast). And right now, it feels as if I can never go back to the city I love. All because of one woman: Kim Andrews. The love of my life who got me kicked out of the Arts council because of some harsh emails. Well? She bloody asked for it! Noone kicks me in the nuts and gets away with it! And now, it’s payback time!
I didn’t think about these sore facts, as I travelled from airport to airport. First stop was Frankfurt. I’ve never been to Frankfurt. Not even the airport. But I’ve seen so many, that one doesn’t make much difference from the other. As soon as I found my seat on the plane, I shut my eyes to wonder of in wonderland of dreams and visions. IT takes away the actual pain of having to deal with shitty passangers, and my thirst for alcohol. The drugs was still working strong.
As the plane landed, I was dying for a sigarette. Why does these smoking laws exist? Are they in fact preying for some crazed nicotine slave to go mental 30,000 feet in the air?
After another check in, I hasted towards a lunge where smokers could stand as apes in a cage and puff their legal nicotine. People where hasting by, and I craved to pass out again.
But I couldn’t. I’m a traveller. And have been all my life. And I still can’t get used to it. Aspecially not the expectations on what will come next. What will come around the corner or far off in the sunset. And this time, I wasn’t sure how long this journey would last until it would come to a crude end. My last trip to Belfast that went disastrous was fresh in my memory.
How could I make it different this time?
I repeated my procedure at Air Malta as I did Lufthansa. Found my seat, and immediately turned around to inspect the inside of my eyelids. Praying that not some fat git would sit next to me and squeese his blubber over me.
I was soon half asleep again. The drugs was wearing off, and reality checked in again. The flight attendants woke me up about an hour ionto the flight for food. I haven’t had a free meal on a plain since they actually had some service. Or maybe I was getting used to Ryanairs sloppy service and dry sandwiches that cost more than the ticket itself.
I ate half of the bunn, all the ham and the cheese before I passed out again. I could sleep anywhere. I may be a traveller. But I dread the notion of not being able to fire up a joint to make the trip more interesting. Shit! I’d have a journey through the desert on a camel for weeks instead of this! Or on a longship across the sea to a new place to pillage just to blow off some steam!
The plane was starting to go dowbnwards. We were getting closer. To a new place I have never been to. That’s what makes the experience more interesting. And I was wondering if they have gotten my two bags checked through all the way as they promised.
Somehow they did. It’s a wonder. Every timne I have to go on these dreaded flights, it always goes more smooth than I expect. Maybe it’s because in prevvious, something has always happened. That’s when my old mother was making the desicions, and we were travelling stand by, or good bye. When I’m travelling, it’s like they pull me through with no hazzle. It’s when I get h0me and carry with me my medicine they give me shit. I hate the laws! I hate anyone who’s trying to stop me from doing what I’m supposed to do!
And soon, I’ll be the most infamous man on this island….