i was eighteen when i first visited Amsterdam. With three friends we camped a little outside the city, a quiet family camp ground, maybe 100 tents, pitched in disarray across a wooded valley beside a steaming green lake. The calls of the waterfowl would attempt to keep us awake. Were it not for the copious amounts of cannabis im sure they would have succeeded, however, our slumber was an cartoon of real sleep, lulled into that netherworld of dreams by our ritualised smoking both morning and night. A smoking holiday, young and brave, all four of consumed more that was good for us, like a street beggar diving into a free meal.I remember a lot of that trip which now i find surprising, some memories, despite their chemical influence remain imprinted on our minds, tacky and viscous, I can dive into reverie and wade through those moments with a clarity unlike many of my later memories, formed as they were in both joy and distress. Something significant was happening then which forceably ensured i would not forget.

My companions for that journey were Ed, Ben, and Dann! That's how he spelt it back then. God knows where he is now, and how he might spell his name today, that exclamation mark, another little nuance of the growing old, finding ones way in the world, and ensuring we leave a mark, his the exclamation, taut and muscle bound, and glorious in his vigour, he was our captain, or certainly that's how it felt, a little misdirection, colluding, and physical strength gave him that power, although now i see it for what it was, artifice. Lost and lonely and struggling with approaching adulthood. Ed, now, a family man, a baby to take care of, a woman in his life, a steady job and the commitments that come as part of that package. i spoke with him yesterday, he's happy, he's moving on and up and accepting, and i love him for that. So many memories of my time with him come rushing to the fore, in a torrent which threatens to overwhelm me and sweep me away in a tide of thought and feeling. My rudder in difficult times, playmate and companion. Ben too, a family man, on the other side of the world, as am I, is becoming my rock again. Years slipped past and i never understood his importance, but he has always been a part of my thoughts, of my thinking, of my ideas, once, sat in a favourite pub, he declared me to be hi "grandiose idealist". Words that have come back to haunt me as individuals. Grandiosity, he was far to accurate for his tender years when he made that statement however his unknown wisdom has stood the test of time, as i sit here and believe at time that the world revolves round me, i am the core, and everything that happens is a blessing or deliberate attack upon me, that i am the cause and reason. And idealist, what a mess that can get one into, and what presents it holds out to a believer.