Once upon a time in West Norwood, way back in the late 20th century, I ate a hash cake that froze my brain for 24 hours. Thirty minutes after ingesting the offending object, I felt nothing at all. Then I made the amateurish mistake of looking at my own reflection in the mirror of a pub toilet.
What I saw wasn’t me at all. I had morphed into something green and grotesque: a teenage gargoyle with bloodshot eyes. Profoundly freaked out, I rushed back to my bedroom, where I spent the rest of the weekend watching back-to-back episodes of Miss Marple.
“Never again,” I vowed that day.
– Read the entire article at Independent.