04 Jun '14 10:11>2 edits
At the weekend I was searching for someones teenager who had gone past curfew and I ended up stone cold sober in a kind of nightclub, actually an old miners welfare building. It was like a scene from the twilight zone, ladies with spray painted leopardskin dresses and huge straw colored platform shoes shuffling about a 1970's dance floor.
I ended up in Glasgow's royal infirmary, teenager in hand being checked by the doctors at 4:30 AM. Hospital waiting rooms attract all kinds of interesting people at that time, homeless people coming for a heat and a cup of coffee, policemen with those injured in street brawls. I cast my mind back to when i was homeless, trying to sleep under concrete bridges beside huge river rats, seeing the people in bus stations trying to make a bed on the concrete pavement. I was lucky, I ended up in a homeless unit filled with those with mental health issues from a local Victorian hospital that had recently closed down, now converted into luxury housing.
I liked those patients, there was a man who thought he was Elvis, he had his hair done in a nineteen fifties flattop quiff all Brylcreamed up to a salient point. He pestered everyone asking for his guitar. There was Arthur, a genuine flower child from the nineteen sixties, his mind blown by too much LSD and watching the magic roundabout. Everyone was drugged with barbiturates and diazepam. 'Liquid kosh', they called it because it had the same effect as being hit over the head with a baseball bat.
I knew the psychiatrist from the hospital, his son and I sometimes jammed together in his garage, he was crazier than all those patients and yet he was the doctor in charge!
I ended up in Glasgow's royal infirmary, teenager in hand being checked by the doctors at 4:30 AM. Hospital waiting rooms attract all kinds of interesting people at that time, homeless people coming for a heat and a cup of coffee, policemen with those injured in street brawls. I cast my mind back to when i was homeless, trying to sleep under concrete bridges beside huge river rats, seeing the people in bus stations trying to make a bed on the concrete pavement. I was lucky, I ended up in a homeless unit filled with those with mental health issues from a local Victorian hospital that had recently closed down, now converted into luxury housing.
I liked those patients, there was a man who thought he was Elvis, he had his hair done in a nineteen fifties flattop quiff all Brylcreamed up to a salient point. He pestered everyone asking for his guitar. There was Arthur, a genuine flower child from the nineteen sixties, his mind blown by too much LSD and watching the magic roundabout. Everyone was drugged with barbiturates and diazepam. 'Liquid kosh', they called it because it had the same effect as being hit over the head with a baseball bat.
I knew the psychiatrist from the hospital, his son and I sometimes jammed together in his garage, he was crazier than all those patients and yet he was the doctor in charge!