Yes, I smoked marijuana. And I inhaled

I have never been tempted to try cigarettes. But I have always thought the idea of smoking marijuana was quite beguiling, said Daniel Finkelstein. Picture: Supplied

If you poured all the alcoholic drinks I have consumed in my life into a single pint glass, the liquid wouldn’t reach the rim. I don’t smoke. I don’t even drink coffee. And I have never had a joint. Until now. I’m 59. None of this is because I treat my body as a temple. I treat it more like an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. I don’t drink either alcohol or coffee for the same reason that I don’t eat celery. I don’t like the taste very much. I’m not afraid of losing control, because that would over-estimate the amount of control I have in the first place.

I did once smoke a cigar. I’ve always liked the look of them. I thought if I smoked one I might become a millionaire property developer. Or be able to organise a conspiracy of police officers to cover up my crimes after a black-tie dinner. But all I actually did was cough. I arranged for a friend to buy the very best Cuban cigar, I paid for lunch and we smoked it on the very last day it was legal to do it indoors. Then for a week I was telling everyone, “I wish I hadn’t had that cigar.”

So I have never been tempted to try cigarettes. But I have always thought the idea of smoking marijuana was quite beguiling. The Beatles were introduced to it in the summer of 1964 and it wasn’t long before they were recording Rubber Soul. Maybe that would happen to me.

But unlike with coffee and cigars there has been a problem. Consuming marijuana is illegal. And I try never to do things that are illegal.

Spending my life participating in politics and writing about it, I strongly disapprove of taking the law into your own hands. What is the point of debating and voting and passing laws, if you don’t feel you have to abide by the decisions that are reached?

Sure, there are some moments when you need to defy the law to ensure people are not excluded from the political process or are subject to some horrible injustice. But smoking a joint does not belong in either category. I’m quite sympathetic to legalising cannabis. But for now it isn’t legal. And, as far as I am concerned, that is that.

To be fair, my resolve hasn’t often been tested. I went to a party shortly after starting university when someone offered me a joint to smoke, and I said no. And occasionally, in my twenties, I went to dinner with a friend I adored who would pass round a frisbee with what I imagine was cannabis in it. I never asked, was never told and didn’t partake.

In Colorado marijuana consumption is legal. Picture: Supplied

Apart from that, I haven’t encountered drugs of any kind in a social setting. Or a work one. There have been reports that people have found traces of cocaine in the toilets in parliament. And I have been in meetings with people clearly under the influence. So somewhere, someone is holding a wild party. But they left me behind to debate housing policy.

Then, three weeks ago, we went on holiday to Colorado. And in Colorado marijuana consumption is legal. It was my opportunity. Or, as my oldest son, Sam, preferred to put it, I had no further excuse.

We researched the law quite carefully. Where could we buy it, where could we smoke it, who could smoke it (yes me and my wife, Nicky, yes my 22-year-old, no my 20-year-old), the fact that we couldn’t take it with us into Wyoming (we visited the jail that held Butch Cassidy and I don’t think political attitudes have changed much there since, so I wasn’t keen to be arrested in Wyoming). And then we went shopping.

Our chosen dealer (it was just a shop, so it’s like calling Waitrose a dealer, but I like the sound of it) was a place called Half-Baked in Boulder. Sam insisted that he would do the talking. He said kindly that it was because he’d done the reading, but I appreciate it was really so that I wouldn’t embarrass him. Like the time I let my parents order in my favourite dim sum restaurant.

We handed in our passports at the counter and were told to wait, before finally being allowed into a screened-off area where the products were kept.

There were two members of staff in “Half-Baked” T-shirts and various leaves in jars. Sam chose something called Jelly Pie. It was, he said, at “the lower end of the tetrahydrocannabinol content scale” because he didn’t want to get us anything too strong. He also bought rolling papers with tips, a little plastic grinder, and an America the Beautiful lighter.

Sam Walsh, a budtender, sets up marijuana at a dispensary in Denver, Colorado. Picture: AFP

And then we drove off, with the product in Sam’s bag and the whole car smelling of weed.

A couple of nights before we left Denver, in the safety of a friend’s home (it’s illegal to consume in public), Sam opened his glasses case with rolled joints in and told me the time had come. He lit it for me, with the America the Beautiful lighter, handed it over and told me what to do.

I took a deep drag, held it in my mouth for a moment, then exhaled. Then I did it again. Nicky didn’t like the experience of inhaling at all. I didn’t mind. I wouldn’t say I liked it, but it wasn’t as bad as the cigar. And then I waited.

The effect wasn’t great. It didn’t change my life. After my second drag I told the others that I had now decided I was against capitalism and nuclear weapons, but in truth I was just the same as before except very gently mellow.

Not mellow enough to compose Nowhere Man, just slightly (very slightly) sozzled. It’s what I imagine it might be like to have had a couple of drinks, or perhaps three. Only I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never had a couple of drinks. And I wouldn’t know if cannabis gives you the munchies because I always have the munchies.

I sat and talked, reasonably coherently, for a while and I definitely giggled for little or no reason. But I’m forever doing that too. Then I went to bed, got up in the morning and got on with life.

Listen, I liked it well enough. It was fun. I’m glad I did it. But I’m not going to become Cheech or Chong.

The Times