Cannabis Campaigners' Guide News Database result:


After you have finished reading this article you can click here to go back.

UK: Looking for a place to light up legally in London

Amelia Hill

The Observer

Sunday 25 Jan 2004

---

Amelia Hill takes her faux joint out on the town to test people's awareness
of changing laws on cannabis

Rolling up a joint in the toilet of St Paul's Cathedral isn't my usual
Friday morning habit but it seemed as good a place as any to start testing
the confusion over the Government's new cannabis laws.

Cannabis will be downgraded on Thursday from a class B to class C drug, a
category which covers the least harmful of the illegal drugs including GHB,
anabolic steroids and tranquillisers such as Valium.

On paper, the law is fairly straightforward but on the streets, the line is
less clear: some police forces have said they will continue to operate a
strict 'arrest all' policy even for possession of small amounts while in
other areas, officers admit users will simply receive a caution.

Having invested in a packet of Ginseng herbal cigarettes and some Rizlas, I
spend a happy half-hour locked in the cathedral toilets perfecting the
origami twists that create the sleek cones that shriek 'spliff' to even the
least drugwise mind.

Our national stiff upper lip would make it too easy for people to ignore
me, I decided, if I simply sat in prominent locations around London,
puffing on my pseudo-joint. Instead, I decide to ask permission: first to
smoke, then, brandishing my reefer, to spark up.

I am admiring a line of perfectly rolled spliffs on the ledge of the
cathedral toilet when I hear two security guards starting their rounds.
Hurriedly collecting together my stash, I flee to the other side of the
room, leaving a messy scattering of Rizla remains, roach cast-offs and herb
fragments behind.

'Oh look, someone's been a naughty girl,' one guard cheerfully says,
emerging from my cubicle with the paraphernalia cupped in her hand.

'Wish my Friday could start as early,' her colleague replies. 'Is there any
left over?' They prod at the remains, then wander off sadly, discussing
handbags.

At Tate Modern, I buy a coffee and ask if I can smoke. A waiter points to
the balcony. 'You can go out there,' he says.

I produce my mammoth spliff. There is a gasp from the schoolboys in the
queue behind me. Can I smoke this? I ask. He barely hesitates: 'Of course,'
he says with a sweet, complicit smile. 'It's a nice view out there to relax
with.'

The woman at the central reception of St Thomas' Hospital in Lambeth
directs me outside to smoke. I produce the joint and she registers it
calmly, with the air of someone regularly asked much worse.

I try for a second opinion and target a doctor and nurse. Perhaps less
hardened to the unpredictable demands of the public, the nurse doubles up
in hilarity when I produce the joint.

'I don't see a problem: the law has changed, hasn't it?' says the doctor.
'You should probably be discreet though; choose somewhere quiet.' As I move
away, the nurse turns to the doctor: 'It was polite of her to ask though,
wasn't it?'

Staff at the neighbouring Guy's Hospital are less welcoming. 'What are you
doing?' shrieks the woman at reception. Convinced such behaviour must be
proof of foreign blood, she mimes handcuffs and speaks slowly. 'You'll be
arrested. Put. It. Away.'

Outside, a security guard saunters up. 'Do you need anything?' he asks. I
recognise him from the reception at Guy's and he looks from left to right
before gesturing discreetly. 'Come with me,' he says, leading me round to
the back of the hospital to a quiet but still very public park. 'You can
probably get away with it here,' he says. Then: 'I don't suppose you have
any spare, do you?'

In the old County Hall building that now houses the imposing Marriott
hotel, I ask an immacutely suited manager where I can smoke. He beams and
expansively gestures around him: 'Anywhere madam, we're delighted for you
to smoke wherever is most comfortable for you.'

I produce the spliff and he takes a step back. Swallowing, he shakes his
head. 'Madam, please. No, you can't smoke that in here.' 'Why not?' I ask.
I say I had read in the papers this morning that it was now legal. He turns
ashen. 'You can't smoke that in here,' he repeats, more firmly.

I persist. What would happen if I did? His eyes flick to and fro
desperately across the deserted reception. There is no one to help him. He
takes a stab in the dark.

'Umm. I'd be forced to escort you from the building?' he guesses. I am at
least seven inches taller than him and I can almost hear his buttocks
clenching in horror at the prospect.

I relent and, leaving unescorted, immediately find a more sympathetic
friend in a security guard for the hotel who happily gives me a light and
offers to share his ashtray.

In the streets behind the drugs and vice headquarters at Charing Cross
police station, two young policemen are just finishing their rounds. 'What
would happen if I started smoking this?' I ask, producing the spliff. They
blanche. 'Put that away while you're talking to us,' one says. 'Put it this
way - if you were smoking that in your car, you would be arrested.' But
aren't you allowed to smoke in private premises? I ask; isn't a car private?

There is a pause. 'That's true,' he concedes. He looks tense. 'Well,
perhaps if you were in a car, travelling slowly in a built-up area, you'd
be arrested,' he tries.

What about personal use? I ask. I wave the spliff around again. I've hardly
got any dope at all in this, I say. 'The amount you've got there is clearly
for personal use, so that's fine,' says the second officer.

'So if I was smoking this in my car, that would be legal?' I ask. 'I
thought you said ... ' He breaks in: 'You're confusing us now: I'd just
advise you to take it home and smoke it there.

'The truth of the matter is that the exact rules haven't filtered down to
us yet, so we're none of us too sure,' he tries to smile. 'Please, miss,
please put it away now.'

I collar another pair of officers. 'It's different in different areas of
London,' explains one. 'If you want to smoke that, I'd suggest you crossed
over to Lambeth.'

'We're more prudish here,' his younger colleague adds, folding his arms
behind his back. 'Put that away now, miss, you're embarrassing me.'

I persist and they ditch their libertarian approach. 'If you don't put that
away, miss, I could arrest and search you,' says the older officer. 'Then I
will go to your home and turn it over.'

'We're off now to oversee the changing of the guards at the Palace, so
please,' he adds. 'So just take yourself and your cannabis and go home.'

The Bridge Bar at London Bridge train station is frantic with commuters and
thick with cigarette smoke. 'It's OK for you to smoke but not for us and
our lungs,' a barman crossly replies to my question.

I produce the spliff. Is it also ok to smoke this? His face lights up in
delight. 'I wish you could; I wish I could help you smoke it too.' A small
crowd of barmen gather but scatter as the manager arrives.

He is less amused. 'You can't do that here: It's not law yet.' So when it
becomes law, can I smoke it then? 'Yes,' he says, then in a blast of
creativity, he adds. 'But we need to get a certificate. We've applied for
one and it should arrive soon; perhaps next week.' 'Then will I be able to
smoke here?' 'Absolutely,' he assures me.

The harried staff at the station are less inventive. 'The laws haven't
changed yet,' the stationmaster tells me. 'If you smoke here, I'll have to
have you arrested.'

His friend interrupts to say it'll be legal next week. 'Can I come back and
smoke this then?' I ask. The stationmaster adopts a hunted look. He tries
to back away but his friend is blocking his exit route. 'Miss, this is a
busy time,' he begs. 'Please, won't you please move aside?'

As the night draws in, the French staff at Cafe Rouge in Hay's Galleria,
near Tower Bridge, are utterly unfazed by my request.

'But of course,' they smile. 'The boss is not here so you must be free to
do whatever you want. It is no trouble to us.' They bring me matches and
lean on the bar, watching approving as I roll a fresh joint and finally
puff away.

 

 

 

After you have finished reading this article you can click here to go back. 




This page was created by the Cannabis Campaigners' Guide.

Feel free to link to this page!