Well, I have finally decided to make a start on writing about the episode that is my life up until now. I posted in the weekend thread about making crack and someone suggested that I make a thread in /A/ about my experiences.
To begin with, I am NOT a crack addict, and I am not saying that in denial either. What I am in fact is a heroin addict, or I suppose more to the point I am addict to buzzing in general. My actual favourite drug is weed. But anyway, I digress. I am going to write about my life from the point that I first experienced drugs and how it happened etc and how things have progressed and how I feel about everything. It's going to be a long thread.
Let's begin.........
I was an awkward teenager, always trying to fit in with any crowd that would have me, because I did not fit your typical niche. I was a cross between a geek and a cool kid. Hated by my teachers because I achieved top grades in all of my subjects but once my work was complete I would sit with the naughty kids and join in with them.
It was them who I wanted to fit in with. I wanted to have stories to tell of weekend drug taking and stealing cars rather than talking about my latest addition to my Commodore Amiga such as a 512kb memory upgrade. I so wanted to be in that crowd. Ultimately though, I wanted to be someone that I was not, I just wanted to be wanted. This due to being raised by my grandfather because my parents were useless cunts, but that's another story...
This new lad started at our school in year 9, Danny his name was. He was kicked out of his last school for fighting and he had a reputation. I was quite awestruck because he started talking to me and genuinely wanted to be my friend whereas the other "hard" lads shunned me. He told me lots of tales of taking acid, speed and weed and I was simply fascinated by it all. I thought I had best start off at the shallow end, so I started to question him about weed, to the point I done his fucking head in. "Look," he says to me, "if you wanna fucking know so much about it, then come round mine after school on Thursday and bring five quid with you and I will show ya what it's all about mate." I instantly accepted his offer and I was almost shaking with excitement when Thursday came.
Danny was what would be described as a long haired lout. He was into his heavy metal music and reggae and had a dirty greasy look about him. I expected him to come from some kind of dysfunctional family, you know how you imagine people to fit into stereotypes? Well, I was shocked as fuck when I turned up at the address he gave me and was welcomed into a smart house by a well turned out and polite woman who invited me inside and told me I had to take my shoes off. She shouted up to Danny who in turn shouted me up to his bedroom which was in the loft. I transgressed through the smart house, up the stairs and then up the ladders into the loft which could only be described as a shithole.
He was smoking a joint at the hatch and his mum expressed her dismay at this to which he replied, "oh, fuck off mum". I was mortified and excited at the same time as I would never dream of speaking to an elder in such a way. Next, we got down to business. He took my fiver off of me and told me that he has some Thai stick. Meant fuck all to me to be honest, but anyway. I watched with intrigue as he rolled a joint and explained to me what a roach was. I was utterly fascinated. Not just by the drug, which I had still yet to experience, but the rituals surrounding it all.
Joint rolling now complete, he lit the fat end of the miniature white baseball bat and inhaled deeply, like a pro. He was my fucking hero. He explained to me how to smoke, as I hadn't even smoked a cigarette. So I took my turn smoking the joint and was soon overcome and overwhelmed by the oh so lovely feeling of a good weed stone. From that moment in time a switch inside me was flicked, I wanted to experience anything that would alter my mind. I questioned him about what would happen if you smoked loads and loads in one go etc and all sorts of newchap questions like that. So he pulled out the bong and packed the bowl and showed me how to smoke with it.
By this point I was FUCKED. I was giggling hysterically. It was also time to leave, and I realised that I could no longer negotiate the ladders to get back down from the loft. It seemed an impossible task. However, safe to say I made it down from the loft and left his house and cycled home feeling better than I had ever felt before. When I got in I was para as fuck and made myself a huge munch and retired to my bedroom after saying goodnight to my grandad.
From then on I was determined to try as many drugs as I could and have lots of fun doing so.
I started buying hashish on a regular basis and I would roll a joint to take to school with me and smoke it in the nearby park before school started. Sadly, this actually propelled me into a higher social status as the cool kids were all like, "OMG he's smoking joints before school". Sad isn't it how something like this can suddenly make you a hit? I have often wondered this of late, why it mattered to the other kids so much. What made me so different all of a sudden? I was still the same person, but I was now a cannabis smoker.
Time went by and I tried speed and acid, and finished school.
This is the time when things really began to change and not necessarily for the better. I passed my driving test and was in my second year of college. I was driving through the back streets near my home when the bane of my existence, this kid called Sam that relentlessly bullied me for years jumped in front of my car in a drunken state and just let himself in. He started talking to me and wanted to be my friend just because I had a car. I knew this at the time but let it slide because I wanted the bullying to stop and I just wanted to be "cool". I just want to say now, being cool and the pursuit of it, is not all it's cracked up to be.
Sam asked me if I wanted to come out on "the earn" with him and his friend Andy. I said yes instantly without even thinking about it. I just wanted to fit in with that crowd and be somebody. I wanted to be a face.
We drive about the county of Essex visiting industrial estates and farms, relieving them of the contents of their tills and safes at every opportunity we could. I was now introduced to money, large sums of money. I mean, I had a car and everything, but survived on twenty quid a week pocket money and whatever else I asked for at home.
It was at this point that I was introduced to someone who would really change my life forever. Ricky. He was 18 but a big time cocaine, hash, weed and speed dealer. I started sniffing coke and Ricky and I became tight friends. Sam being the bullying cunt that he was hated the fact that Ricky had taken to me and was constantly trying to cause bother for me.
We went about generally causing havoc, selling drugs and terrorising people. In particular, one night we got some CS gas and drove around the local paki owned and operated petrol stations and sprayed the gas in the air leaving the paki bastards to flap and wave their arms as the gas worked its magic on the black bastards eyes.
Really when I say we, it was he that was doing the spraying and me driving the car. We were arrested at our respective houses in the early hours of the next morning by armed police. I went no comment all the way in my interview, but nothing mattered anyway as the quality of the CCTV was so good. Ricky was fucked.
This all went to court and I was found not guilty as I was not spraying anything, just standing and laughing and this apparently is not a crime. Ricky went to prison for nine months. Little did I know that whilst he was in there, this cunt Sam was writing him letters telling him I was going about the manor giving it the big one about how I grassed him up and put him away. Sam had also been there when all this took place and he wasn't even arrested. If I was a grass, his name would have been up first. That's for sure.
I heard that Ricky had got out of prison, and not knowing what he had been told about me I was eager to see my friend. I had heard that he was reasserting his authority in the area by visiting his debtors that owed him before he went into prison.
He went to see this one guy in particular called Alex, and he beat him so severely that he broke the bones in his own hand and had to go to hospital to have a cast fitted. I was in the back garden of a mutual friend when Sam came through the back gate with Ricky in tow. I greeted Ricky, but he didn't seem too pleased to see me and he expressed his dismay at what he had heard and told me that I was "fucking lucky" that he had that cast on his hand. He then proceeded to ask the resident of the house if his parents were in and if he had a knife he could use. Luckily for me his parents were in. I shat myself and ran in the kitchen, locking the door behind me, and then went out through the front door, and ran as fast as I could in any direction I could. It didn't matter, I just wanted to get away. I was terrified, I was in escape mode.
From then on, all of the "friends" that I had surrounded myself with hated me, and even if they didn't, they were only pretending so they could get me out of my house and into the clutches of Ricky.
This is when my life really went downhill. I had just finished college and had fuck all to do with my days. Things became depressing fast. No one wanted to talk to me. People were being offered money to help stitch me up. I was woken one morning with the police knocking at the door. They were demanding a breath sample from me. Being bleary eyed and still half asleep I wondered why, and then I saw my car at the end of the road smashed into one of the neighbours cars. I passed the breathalyser, obviously, and had to take my precious car to the scrap yard for which I was given the princely sum of £25.
I had been buying my hashish off of Karen and Alex, the guy who had his face smashed in by Ricky. I thought it was a safe bet seeing as he had just as much reason to avoid him as I did. However, this time when I turned up to buy my hash, he and Karen were smoking heroin off of tin foil and told me that they did not have any hash but they had some of that stuff if I wanted to give it a try.
As I have said before, I have always been in pursuit of a buzz, but now I really needed some form of escape from my life of sneaking around with my face covered up in fear of someone recognising me. I purchased a ten pound bag of brown powdered heroin there and then and was shown how to chase the dragon on the tin foil.
The very first line hit me instantly. What took me most about it was the similarity to being stoned off of weed. Along with that all of my worries melted away and the warm arms of lady heroin wrapped her arms around my tired, paranoid body and gave me instant relief from the woes of the moment.
What one in this situation will soon realise though, is that heroin is not making the problems disappear, it is just pushing them out of your thoughts, out of your minds eye.
It was from this point that I started to learn lots about people and life and how naive and trusting I was, due to being brought up in a middle class setting. A couple of weeks of heroin use went by, and one day I went round to Alex's place, and I had the sniffles. He and Karen started laughing and proclaimed, "you're clucking". I asked them what the fuck they meant and they said that I felt that way because I was now addicted to heroin. They were fucking right. I bought some gear and as soon as I had inhaled a couple of lines I felt fine again and all the bad feelings disappeared and faded into the air along with the exhaled heroin smoke.
Things soon became difficult when it came to funding this addiction. Whenever I was scoring, I was sharing my stuff with Karen and Alex. One day I turned up with no money thinking that I would be helped out by them. No joy. I was refused the gear I needed to feel well again. I remonstrated with Karen that I always shared my stuff with them, and this is when I learned my first major lesson in life. I was told in no uncertain terms that just because I chose to share my stuff with them, this in no way obligated them to do the same for me. I was horrified. I did not think that life could ever work this way or that anyone could be so blatantly cold. But it did kind of do me a favour.
I started scoring directly from the source myself and locking myself away in my bedroom as it was the only place I felt safe from the beating that I was owed and would surely get if Ricky caught up with me. Not long after this episode I was told that Ricky and a team of cunts went round Karen and Alex's and kicked the door in looking for me and gave Alex a beating instead just because I wasn't there.
I had to become more sneaky now. More undercover. Ricky phoned me and told me he knew I was on the gear and where I was getting it from and that he had people watching for me and that he would surely reap his revenge.
I also had to become more inventive with sourcing money for my addiction. I couldn't shoplift, I don't have the nerve for it. I started burgling houses. Not normal houses, that's just cuntish. I would target the gaffs that were on private roads. My speciality would be to break in, and make a tidy search for valuables in the hope that the home owners would not even notice immediately that they had been burglarised.
I teamed up with a lad called John, as he had a car which made things much easier, especially when you are strung out and needing a fix. It's bad enough having to travel, but even worse when looking over your shoulder constantly in fear if some nutter that is surely going to do you real damage when he gets his hands on you. Luckily for me I was safe at my grandad's home as there were still some rules then. They wouldn't target me at the home of an OAP.
Time went by and we were smashing it, spending a few hundred a day on smack, and the occasional rock. That is what I meant about not being a crack addict. I like it, but only as a treat, it doesn't bother me if it isn't available. Unfortunately, the law of averages caught up with us and I soon found myself laying in my bed staring up at four coppers from CID in my bedroom.
I was cock sure of myself as I was always careful of leaving evidence. However, John was not so careful. I spent five agonising days in a police cell whilst the police carried out their investigations. In the interview, the copper asked me if John was really my friend. I puffed my chest out and assured him that we were staunch buddies. The copper then told me that John had been "singing like a fucking canary". Indeed he had. He told the coppers about crimes that they hadn't even nicked us for. I was fucking fuming. I was held over until court the next day and the police opposed bail on the basis that I was a heroin addict. Now then, this bastard copper had been coming to my cell hatch a few times a day telling me he could get me a doctor to make all the bad feelings go away, all I had to do was ask. I told him to go and fuck himself and that I didn't need a doctor. It was purely on this basis that the court gave me bail as surely no seasoned smack head could refuse a doctor all week. The reality of it was though that I was rattling out of my mind and just playing the game with the old bill.
I was released from the court cells and I rather hastily made my way to Alan's house, the source of my smack. I told him what had happened and that John had grassed me up and he told me that I should rather do something about it.
I got hold of a replica pistol and went and held up a petrol station with it, bought a load of gear. I then went round and terrorised John in his house, but me being me, I could not hurt him, I just don't have it in me, I just wanted him to shit himself. Having achieved what I set out to, I decided that I was going to go on the run and leave town. I made arrangements with my aunt who rather grudgingly let me stay there.
Me being a fucking amateur, signed on at the local job centre where my aunt lives, so it wasn't too long before the old bill caught up with me and I was on my way to getting my first taste of prison. Chelmsford Prison in Essex to be precise.
>>6557 If you were part of the Essex underground, do you know of a Darren who everyone suspects is gay. He is a little below average height, a massive cokehead and very stocky.
Now then, I knew that some fucking difficult times were ahead of me in this place as it was full of people that all knew who I was and what Ricky wanted done to me, and for some reward too. In short, I was fucking shitting myself.
It was the the evening time by the time the van got to the prison, and I was ushered through processing and put into a cell with what is called a "buddy". Basically someone that babysits you on your first couple of nights in prison. I have a very rare surname, so it soon got about that I was in there and I had some horrible cunt shouting me up at the window. He told me that I was getting done in no uncertain terms. This meant that I had to become even more of a prisoner within a prison. What a fucking joke, eh?
So I didn't leave my cell to go to association or even exercise time on the yard. This made me increasingly depressed, and initially this was coupled with cold turkey heroin withdrawal. All I could do was watch prison life through the crack in my door or out of the window. The only time I left my cell was to go and collect my meals. It was explained to me at the time that at the YOI part of the prison there was no "protection" wing like you get on the adult section, as all we had was one wing for us YO's.
Six months I endured this for until I was released from Basildon crown court in the year 2000. I was fucking banged up for the millennium, what a cunt. But I've only myself to blame for that. And due to my reclusive time in prison, I don't really have any tales to tell. It was fucking soul destroying doing my bangup like that though, locked in that rectangular room 24/7 doing single bangup as I did not want to share with anyone in case they were going to do a job on me for Ricky.
I learned my fucking lesson, and I learned it the fucking hard way, no doubt about that. I can't complain as it was fully deserved. Upon release I went back to my aunt's place so as not to be around the same people and the drugs.
I got a job in a nightclub and lived the dream for a while shagging loads of birds and living in the beautiful county of Surrey. But there soon came a time when the dream had to come to an end, as my friends dad had to sell the nightclub due to a compulsory purchase. I got another job at another nightclub that had staff accommodation. I was told that once I left home there was no coming back.
So I was happily working away in this new night club, and it was a real good laugh, especially the social aspect of having the staff house. We would often take people back for after hours parties.
There was a girl called Caroline who had followed along from the old nigtclub to get a job at the new one after the sell off. We were drinking one night when she joked with me that she tried to get me the sack. Needless to say I didn't find it very fucking funny at all. What happened next set me on my next adventure in life. Caroline tried to set me up with one of her pals, but I was not interested in the least. Then one night at work, we were called for a meeting about bottles of booze going missing from stock and that they knew who had done it. We were all taken across to the staff house for the reveal and I was genuinely interested to see who the culprit was, until it was announced the I WAS THE FUCKING CULPRIT. But I wasn't. The little bitch Caroline had set me up and planted evidence in my room as none of the doors had locks on them as it wasn't really needed. Only in hindsight huh?
So, I was sacked and was told that I was persona non grata at the house and to GTFO and without the standard notice. This was due to the accommodation being provided with the job so normal tenancy rules did not apply.
The only thing for it was to get in touch with my mum. She lived and still lives in a one bed flat in Sutton, Surrey. She also works as a dominatrix so she tends to keep funny hours. We never really had a relationship before and now we were flung together.
I will stop to answer your question. No, I did not know any Darren, but it was highly suspected that Ricky himself was gay. By the way, there is a book called "Essex Boys: The New Generation" in which I feature, as does some of this account that I am writing.
You could say that I had "mummy issues" so I fucking hated spending time with her really, and had to get the fuck out as quickly as I could. I moved into a shared house in the town centre and got a job as an assistant manager at a local pub.
In this pub there was a guy that came in every day playing the fruit machines and sipping on a beer as he did. I got talking to him as he was my kind of guy. He managed a McDonald's and sold E's on the side. He told me that he could set me up in the E business and with the local contacts I had made in the pub and club trade I had a free pass to all the local nightclubs.#
Everything was going swimmingly until one night Ben and I were out together. I had a pocket full of E strictly for personal use. I never used to actually sell inside the clubs as it was too risky. I sold to the cunts that sold inside the clubs. But this one night this little scrote that knew I was in the business came up to me and started harrassing me and begging me for some E's. I very grudgingly agreed to sort him out and told him to stay put right where he was. Did he listen to me? What do you fucking think?
He decided to follow me into the toilet. Every stall was empty apart from mine and unbeknownst to me the cunt decided to stand right outside it. A bouncer came in and must have been curious as to why this kid was standing outside an occupied stall when there so many others that were vacant. Rather than give me a warning, he just stood there and I opened the door to him standing there with a bouncer. I tried to casually walk away as though I was oblivious to any concern that the bouncer may have had, but the bastard grabbed me and searched me right there and found the pills that I had pulled out from my stash to give to the idiot that was waiting there.
I got frog marched out of the toilets to a waiting audience as everyone knew I was an assistant manager at a local boozer, and then they called the police. I was nicked with 27 pills on me. I gave them a load of old bollocks that the guy was selling to me and not the other way around.
I became extremely depressed about my predicament over the following weeks as I lost my job at the pub and I had undercover police watching my movements. I woke up one day and got a phone call from someone wanting a hundred E's, so I went into town to meet them but the fucking mug didn't bother showing up to do the deal. Rather than take them home I stashed them about my person and went to one of the seedier drinking holes where I was still allowed to drink at and proceeded to get absolutely smashed.
I don't have a lot of memory of what happened next, but I set off home and on the way back my bowels had succumbed to the effects of the E. Anyone that has taken a lot of E will know exactly what I mean. Only problem was I chose the alleyway opposite the fucking police station to relieve myself. Unfortunately a passing lady took offence at the fact that I was shitting up the wall of the alley and went into the police station and informed the desk attendant. Next thing I am being held up by two burly coppers, one of which fished the remainder of the pills I had out of my pocket. Some 37 if I remember correctly.
I woke up in the cells the next day feeling very very bad and even worse when I remembered the pills. I was charged and released.
Now, long story short, the bastard of all this was that the first case got dropped due to lack of evidence and I now had to face this one. Luckily I got the charges dropped to possession only and received a fine of £1000.
Whilst all of this had been going on I had been neglecting to pay the rent at my shared house and had been terrorising my very placid landlord and blatantly ignoring his requests for payment. He even changed the locks but I just kicked the door in. He called the police on me, but it was him that almost got arrested as they said that even though they sympathised with his situation he needed to evict me properly.
I started hanging around with two brothers called Rowan and Warren. Well, mainly Warren at first. He was an out and out piss head and me having an addictive personality soon decided to join in with him. We would steal bottles of vodka and cases of Stella and get on the night bus or the train and just get so fucking smashed that we didn't care where we were. Obviously whilst all of this was taking place I was neglecting my housing situation and soon found myself officially homeless. Fuck it, I thought, and I still continued. I got myself a job in an office at a mail marketing place near Wimbledon and got Warren a job there too. We would drink cans of Stella on the way to work on the train and get lots of dirty looks, but I loved it being the rebel that I am.
This wore thin pretty quick at work and they had their eye on us. Warren got the sack first, but he was just a warehouse hand, I had a more prestigious database management job working in the office and I also used to run the subscription services for Private Eye magazine, The Oldie and you will lol at this one, the fucking Spice Girls fan club! I had the pleasure of opening their mail. OMG I could tell some stories there, and probably will later but don't want to go down that route right now.
I was finally sacked when I was caught remotely accessing the payroll woman's computer across the network and using the NatWest BACS software to make payments to myself, and also using the credit card machines to make refunds to my own cards.
At the time though, I had a little earner going as a sideline. A few friends and I used to rent out the Soundshaft which joins onto and is owned by Heaven in London. You know? The bumders nightclub. It was here that I moved onto the next part of this tale that it my life.
I was getting the eye off a not-too-savoury ginger bird from across the bar. I went and got talking to her for the sole purpose of getting a place to crash. It turned out that she was a student nurse from Ireland and she had her own pad. She could not believe her luck as she was punching above her weight with me, and I'm not being a cunt there, she was a fucking moose. We moved in together that very night and had a relationship that lasted a couple of years, obviously not perfect as it started out with me just using her for a place to stay.
We ended up renting a house in Custom House in east London that we would eventually go on to try and buy. This is an epic story in itself, so I will go on. I have been wanting to write about this for ages.
We had moved into this house, and I was desperately seeking a connection to get some weed to smoke. I thought the obvious thing to do would be to ask the local lads that hung around the local shops. I got talking regularly to this one character called Billy. He kept on and on at me about how he knew these nigerians that could help me earn thousands upon thousands if I were to do some work for them. Hmm. Being a bit on the savvy side I decided against it for quite some time but little Billy persisted with asking.
One day I told him to give my number to the black cunts and for them to get in touch. Indeed they did. "Mark" and "Tony" came and picked me up in a brand new v5 VW Golf and took me to Asda to get some photos taken to make a fake ID with.
A couple days later they call me up and tell me to meet them. I meet up with them and they have a passport with my picture in with a different name and a whole bunch of accompanying bills and paperwork and a reference number for a loan that I was taking out at a bank. I was told I was getting 15% which I was not particularly impressed with but fuck it, money is money when you need it. You see, I had just been sacked from my latest job managing a betting shop for fiddling the books. Another story for later...
We headed to a bank in Hornchurch in Essex and I collected a ten grand loan with the paperwork I was given. I was given my cut and I went home quite happy. Now then, this became a bit of a rinse/repeat cycle and we did it like it was our living day in day out. I was pissed off at the 15% thing though as I thought I deserved more than that considering what I was bringing in. On average we would get between ten and twenty grand in loans, fifteen hundred overdraft and four grand on a credit card plus store cards. I wanted more.
Along came my opportunity. "Tony" got nicked for something else and was away for quite some time. "Mark" had remarked to me that I had been their longest lasting operative as most others ended up getting nicked. But due to my having the gift of the gab and the ability to think quickly I was good at playing the game. This one time I was making a large withdrawal and the clerk at the bank questioned it and I went all out and made a complaint to her manager saying how dare she question me on how I manage my finances and spend my money.
No, don't get me wrong, you may be thinking we were robbing from people's bank accounts, but we were not. We were taking out credit in other people's names and stuff like that so as to stay under the radar. You would be long gone by the time the bank realised they were being had and we would often leave enough in the dodgy account to cover at least the first two months payments.
As I was saying, it was just Mark and I now, and I told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to retain my services I was now taking 40% of all earnings. I couldn't take 50% as I did understand that there were expenses to be paid out on dodgy licenses and paperwork, passports etc.
So we continued down this path and I lived the life of a fucking king the whole time. But remember my little ugly Irish girlfriend? I just left her at home and gave her enough money to get to uni and to keep her happy. We also proceeded to buy the house that we had been renting and started renting rooms out on a house share basis.
I started taking holidays abroad and travelled to a lot of countries around the world. I'm sure I don't need to go into detail about all the hedonism as it would just be pointless bragging. What happened next was that I planned a holiday to Australia and she told me that if I went she would not be there when I returned. I told her go for it.
True to her word, on my return from Australia she was gone. But so was my house. In my absence it had been repossessed as she had had me over for the mortgage payments to get her own back on me. Didn't bother me too much at the time as I got back some of what I put in and just thought I could carry on with my fraud business.
Well fuck, I didn't realise that illegal shit like this gets looked at and loopholes get closed. I was too busy snorting coke and fucking high class prostitutes to think about any of that nonsense. Every fucking job we tried to carry off failed. All of them. And it ruined us. Remember I said about expenses? Well a decent passport is about £400, runners wages run into the hundred and sundries, you're talking about a grand a job. We exhausted all of our money on failed jobs and ultimately we were fucked.
The good times had come to an end. It was back to a boring straight life for a while at least any way.
We are nearly leading up to the current day and once I am finished I will fill in some gaps for you and answer questions.
With Ricky well and truly out of the way serving a twenty-eight stretch I went back to Essex to my grandad's place and took a crash course LGV-II license. Which is basically a license for driving rigid lorries.
Whilst I was doing this I would spend my evening smoking weed with one of the neighbours and I got myself a new Nokia 3G phone on the Three Network and signed up for some shit called Pulsechat. I got talking to a lovely Scottish lassie on there and we have now been together for ten years.
I moved up to Scotland and done the truck driving and lived the straight life for quite some time. But me being me I need excitement. Man, I love those edges. So I started growing weed, and in big amounts. Now I don't want to go into detail about this now, I just want to explain how I got back on that fucking evil smack.
I got caught with a pretty big grow, and decided to move down to London. As soon as we got there I arranged to meet my old pal Rowan. When he turned up he went in the kitchen and started rolling a joint. In this joint I noticed that he was putting brown powder in it which was clearly smack. I stupidly decided to partake, and now I have been hooked on it again for a couple years but I have just got on the suboxone program which is why I have been smoking a bit of crack on the weekends as sub stops you from getting any effects from opiates.
Oh, we moved back to Scotland by the way. That is where we are now. When I can be arsed later I will tell the full sotry of the underworld of heroin in Glasgow.
Heroin is not pretty anyway, but fuck me, here in Glasgow it's a completely different kettle of fish. It's very nasty.
>>6560 He was mates with Tony Tucker and his lot before the pigs killed them. His brothers are more well known, if I get some names, maybe we could trace some mutual acquaintances and then I can tell everyone you get mouthy on gay dating websites. Or maybe we should go for a pint
On that subject then you are obviously in the know that the "official" story is a load of bollocks and Essex police are stitch up merchants?
The OB pulled Ricky and I one night and he had a rather large parcel on him. They got us out of our motor and told him to put whatever he had under their police car, and they were uniformed coppers as well. They retrieved the parcel and then gave Ricky a business card, to which he spat on and ripped up and told them to fuck off. They then did so, along with the parcel of persian rugs.
That doesn't really fly, because you have completely lost your anonymity and anyone with access to a brain and that book you mentioned could find out who you are.
It was a comment made in jest. It's all out there already and of course I knew that I could be identified by mentioning details that I have done, but it doesn't put me in any sort of position that I do not want to be in. As you say, the facts are already out there, and even in the book only my old nick name is mentioned.
No problem. It was quite a cathartic experience. I haven't mentioned anything that is not already public knowledge.
I enjoyed sharing the experiences with you guys as I thought that you would enjoy reading it. The Glasgow instalment will be much more bitter though with very little happiness at all.
Basically I arrived back in Glasgow with my mrs and another heroin addiction in full swing. Our friends only put up with it for so long and we ended up living in a shithole called Pollokshields in some very horrible flats.
I turned to selling the brown on the streets of Glasgow and ended up in some very messy situations. The junkie scene in Glasgow is the unfriendliest I have ever seen, even worse than in London. People will stab you up here for a fiver no joke.
So basically after being clean for 10 years I gained another heroin addiction and returned to glasgow. I really was at rock bottom. I even begged on the streets. When in pollokshields I met a guy I could score weight from so I started selling. Then we had our flat set on fire and were made homeless for a time until we got a temporary furnished flat. I then got clean for a whole year until we got a permanent flat in the town centre where we are now and I had a relapse of which I have just ended. I'm back on the suboxone now and trying to straighten shit out and get back to work but I need another couple of months clean before I can commit to work again. Crime pays for a while but it lacks stability.
>>6573 Indeed, Essex has always been a hive of villainy, all sides included. I'm too young to have known any of them lot personally and just hear stories about what they got up to from old pissheads. Before SOCD and SOCA and other such branches were created, you could literally get away with murder. Your lot had it good, this was before CCTV and DNA evidence got everyone nicked, in those times when you snitched, you'd lose your family. It probably would have went on for a bit longer if you cunts didn't make such a nuisance of yourselves, from what I've heard, there were randomers being attacked over drunken bollocks. Inner City Firm my arse, darkies run things now.
I was never one for wanting a reputation. Reputations bring unwanted attention and challengers. I have always been happy to just have the knowledge in my own head that I am doing OK for myself whereas others just want flaunt it and give it the BIG I AM and go about smashing people up just because they can.
And yeah, fucking darkies run Southend now. Somalians selling crack and smack and all other London crews have moved in. Some bollocks other crew also called Get Paid Daily.
I've never read or heard of the book you mention but some parts of this seem oddly familiar. I could put that down to the necessarily similar vector of getting hooked on smack but there's still something about it niggling at the back of my head. Maybe you posted a truncated version before, here or elsewhere.
Interesting read anyway.
This was an entertaining thread. I can't imagine myself ever posting anything so personal online but I'm glad OP felt like it. What happened to Sam, OP?
(I recognise some of the names from that Rise of the Footsoldier movie.)
>>6588 It ventured towards "stream of consciousness" and there were numerous grammatical errors, but that's fine given the highly personal nature of the material.
The casual racism was jarring and unwelcome, but again, it's autobiographical so if you're just a bit of a bigot then I suppose it should be included.
Understandable. I suppose this would be considered a draught. And the racism? Unfortunately I am a bit of a bigot, yes. Bigotry was a major feature of growing up where I did. We only had two black kids at our school, I did not mean to offend I was just trying to be "natural" I suppose.
