Is the Legalization of Drugs in Portugal a Success?

In 2001 the Portuguese government became the first country to decriminalize drugs- now this does not mean shops can sale drugs, or drug dealers can register themselves as legal businesses-no- this means anyone caught in possession of certain quantity of drugs (less then a ten day supply) for personal use does not have to go to prison and have their reputation malhawked, rather they are forced to meet and be evaluated by a social worker, a psychiatrist, and an attorney who outline reasonable actions to help the drug user if they indeed need help at all.

It reminds me of an episode of The Wire, where an audacious district commander, Major Howard "Bunny" Colvin sick of the failing methods used in squalid neighborhoods in fighting the criminal drug hierarchy sets up Hamsterdam, where he copies the methods of Amsterdam and proposes that as long as drug dealers agree to stay off other streets other than the street allocated they can go about their business. It is interesting to note contrary to common belief marijuana has never been legal in the Netherlands, rather they consciously turned a blind eye to enforcing the law against shops which provided marijuana to customers.

 So why did Portugal break way from the general, conservative European drug policies?  The reason why Portugal enacted such radical laws was that it had the worse drug use in all of the European Union, so they felt a different approach was needed and urgently. João Goulão the president of the Institute on Drugs and Drug Addiction said " we were out of options". Portugal had the highest AIDS caused by dirty syringes deaths than anywhere else in the European Union in 1999.

So has it paid off?The statistics say yes, their are vast improvements. Portugal nowadays finds itself with the lowest rate of marijuana users in Europe, America has roughly 450% more marijuana users and hilariously they have the most stringent laws in the entire world for drug use, America Fail! Since the new laws were introduced, drug use and drug-related deaths have fallen along with the bonus of a rise in those seeking treatment for drug addiction due to the fact that they are no longer afraid of criminal prosecution for seeking such help to their drug problems. There has also been more success in catching those higher up the chain of organized drug-related crime. Glenn Greenwald who worked for the Cato Institute on researching the results of the new laws said “judging by every metric, drug decriminalization in Portugal has been a resounding success. It has enabled the Portuguese government to manage and control the drug problem far better than virtually every other Western country."

Flying The Nest For Christmas p.1

After spending a week lying on a plastic board in an overcrowded airport and the days after basking in swollen sinuses and flying around the back alleys of Peckham, I have finally found a perch that is not filled with the distractions of Muslim prayers whispering in my ears and half-cocked ghetto heads considering a quick mugging between prayers. This being the first time that I have officially flown the nest for the Christmas season, I thought I would write of my experiences so far.

After my flight I quickly ended up engaging with a man from Portugal. He told me that he had 2 hours to make a connecting flight @ Gatwick airport. I recommended to him to get the bus, as I had heard rumours that there was some kind of tube strike. Instead of listening he just continued following me all the way to the tube station. On the way I engaged in some small talk, which resulted in him asking me who was meeting me and where? I told him that I was hoping to meet my GF @ Victoria Station. He then proceeded to ask me if she owned a car and if so could she drive him to Gatwick airport? My rejection of this offer combined with the fact that the tube strike had halted any transport going towards his destination resulted in him staring at me aggressively and then running away. As he disappeared into the underground halls I shouted @ the top of my lungs "nice meeting you". Only stranger's stares met my exclamation.

Whilst writing that last statement I noticed that a squirrel was staring @ me through the window. I took a picture of him while he ate the crumbs that I fucked out onto the terrace. After a brief photo session he dived off the roof into the forest of fros and disappeared into the sprawling terrain.

Yesterday was the first time that I have ever been involved in the preparation of a Christmas dinner and surprisingly I have not spent the morning screaming in the hope that the wrap around my esophagus allows me to expel the tiniest drop of vomit.

Unlike the netting on our Christmas Ham it continues to remain bound and is allowing me to enjoy the meat sweats and lethargy that comes with eating a fine festive meal. The Turkey we cooked tasted very succulent, but I did find it odd that first I had to pull its neck off, that still had a small hint of a face and secondly the giblets were still inside the Turkey, but they were all contained inside a sealed bag. This I found very odd. 

Today I am spending a lot of time hanging out with the remains of our Turkey & Ham. Between shaving them for lunchtime sandwiches and dinner curries I made sure to spend some much deserved time time with both of them. Attached are photos of myself and the Turkey chilling on the couch watching a Twilight marathon. The second photo is of myself and the Ham just chilling on the stairs listening to some early 90s Jungle Music. 

My posts for this journey may be quite sporadic as I am currently hijacking a neighbour's wifi and they have a habit of switching off their box when they leave the house (IMMANUEL KANTS). Until my next post have yourself a hoot and don't believe anything regarding the MRHP Midget party and how this connects with my extended journey out of the Country. 

Merry Christmas and an Atheist New Year, 

Owl.

Review of Glenisk Strawberry and Raspberry Goat's Milk Yoghurt

Hello I am your chief editor of all things food. I have taken a break from restaurants to review a homely commodity spewed from an assembly line no doubt of which you people are quite familiar with. I am on a lactose free diet for a while, to see if it is in any way correlated to the splurges of malevolent phlegm circulating like a gelatinous jelly bean in my sinuses.

Before I am tucked into bed I always demand yoghurt. It is vital for the commencement of dreams Yosi and Yinu are two characters that regularly introduce me to my dreams. They are both like the soft, furred fauna found in Narnia. I also like that the yoghurt when it is the correct quality for my very delicate taste buds are like that of a blanket of snow on my tongue that seeps inside of me, and makes me feel soft and dreamy, Yurm yurm. So after panicking about possible yoghurt withdrawal symptoms, (which usually involves Yosi chewing on my arms and the words of something not quite understandable dizzying out from the lips of the very pretty Yinu, with her seahorse curves and blonde Aryan fur while insomnia is glued to the ceiling of Bethlehem’s favourite son’s stable) I decided to send my maid to obtain for me any goats yogurt they may have in the local superxxxmarket. She came back out of breath and holding her dainty purse with the object of my desire jutting out with blue cardboard rabbit ears, YES Glenisk strawberry and raspberry goat’s milk yoghurt the name shrieked out to me as my increasing delirium became bothersome to the maid, astonished that after three days of sleepless wandering I had coaxed the cognitive abilities to arm myself with a spoon.

My eyes lead by the bulging delirium that had me quite maniac, sifted through the letters inscribed on the yoghurt label, and searching for a message from Yosi who promised a game of croquet before the day’s light was extinguished. And then after six quarters of three dollops of the spoon’s weight in yoghurt, the tastes perspiring into my throat, the ingredients started to pop, materialising in sparks forming what was an electric billboard which read without error, (I was impressed by the pedagogic skills of the maniac vision): Strawberry: whole goat milk, goat milk solids, sugar, tapioca starch, strawberry puree (9%), cane sugar, lemon juice from concentrate, stabiliser (carob gum), natural flavouring, yogurt cultures, probiotic cultures. Raspberry: whole goat milk, goat milk solids, sugar, tapioca starch, raspberry puree (9%), cane sugar, lemon juice from concentrate, stabiliser (carob gum), natural flavouring, yogurt cultures, probiotic cultures.

For some reason the word carob gum (see image below) slapped me in the face, tickled my tummy, elucidated a deeper meaning, but what? I knew then it must be Yosi. I knew that I had to find the meaning of this word and therefore find Yosi. So with this hypothesis fastened to my hippocampus I got my chauffer to drive me to my private jet where I had an airplane waiting and a pilot smelling of gin to take me to investigate where this carob gum came from. I spend four days in Portugal where the Carob tree grows. I was to be lead on the trail by a man wearing baggy pants and a novelty t-shirt of a t-shirt that was in fact bodypaint. He told me of a factory I could find and also told me that the gum preferred the name ‘locust bean gum’ dare I offend it. His grandfather had worked there in the early 1930’s. The directions scribbled on my napkin were faultless, the factory was situated four miles south of a town of which I cannot quite remember the name of it but I do recall it resembled the world pueblo. I get amnesia in the severe heat of these parts. Once I made it to the locale and peeking into a large window which had a burbling sign with the words nehhum espreitar of which I did not understand; I found dozens of seeds having their skin removed by automated machines specialising in acid treatment and a roller operation milling the endosperm. Later reading my copy of The Encyclopaedia of Fruit & Nuts ( a Christmas present from Karl Pilkington, apparently he is a fan of my work) I came across its many uses such as its use in the manufacture of paper, in cosmetics, drugs, the chemical industry, flavouring tobacco, textile printing, synthetic resins, insecticides and fungicides.

I am now in convalesce and will never eat any yoghurt that does not come from my own cows again, of which I’d imagine are lonely without my desires for their dairy. I do miss Nelly particularly, she makes the funniest face when she is milked. On a final note, I shan’t be having mass produced yoghurt anytime soon. I am done experimenting with the fodder of the unsophisticated masses. I have learned that you ought to have stomachs like the Delhi iron pillar for your incessant labours. Until next time happy gastronomy!