Drugs being sold in St James’s hospital

Posted in Old blogger by Twenty Major on November 16th, 2005

Maybe you’ve seen it, maybe you haven’t, but there were reports that the foyer of Dublin’s St James’s Hospital was a fantastic place to go and score drugs, if that’s what you were into. I found it hard to believe as the security personnel in Dublin’s hospitals are second to none and certainly not wide boys with connections to the underworld.

I remember some years back after breaking my arm in an accident I had to spend time in a ward in the Meath hospital and that was something, let me tell you. There was a collection of people in there the likes of which I’d never seen. Old men with emphysema, couriers who had come off their bikes, junkies who had been beaten to shite for not paying their bills, one lad who fell under a bus and a whole section of mentalists including one bloke who had a broken leg but was so dangerous he had his own security guard. Once the guard went for a piss and yer man was up and about stealing from some cunt who’d tried to commit suicide by jumping under a train but only succeeded in getting both his legs mashed up in bits. As he lay in traction the mentalist robbed the money from his bedside table.

In the smoking/TV room at the back there were joints smoked every evening and there were teapots full of whiskey. How people, and I include myself in that, didn’t re-break the bones they’d had set by the surgeons I’ll never know. The guy who fell under the bus had broken his pelvis and both his legs but one night he was so drunk he fell back off his wheelchair while his friend who brought him in the booze just pissed himself laughing because he was stoned off his face.

I remember one bloke who was quiet as a lamb all day long but at nighttime he was a fucking pain in the hoop, crying and calling out for his mother. Fucks sake, it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t just give you some morphine if you asked for it. Morphine is great stuff and it makes pain go away and helps you sleep. If I had so much as an itchy foot I’d be calling the nurse.

“Terrible pain. Oh God. So awful. Need morphine. Help me Jesus on so on.”

And fair play to them they’d give you some. Great, so it was. Anyway, cry-baby would be wailing while the rest of us were trying to sleep and you’d hear the lads shouting at him.

“If I wasn’t in traction I’d come over and give you something to cry about, you cunt.”

Anyway, yesterday I went to St James’s Hospital and bought a 9-bar of hash, 12 Es and 3 grammes of coke so if you’re looking for something for the weekend that’s where to go. Ask for Doctor Singh.

Finally, a joke.

Q: What do you call a two brothers born within minutes of each other who have 5 penises on each foot?

A: The Cocteau Twins.