#Bristol - and, the Sheer Terror of 420: When the World of Castle Park Descends into a Haze of… Well, Nothing Much, Actually. Except a Lot of Litter, With Discarded Spliff Butts.
A Hazy Shade of Green: Observing Bristol's Annual Botanical Appreciation Society.
Yesterday, April 20th, a date destined for infamy, witnessed the annual descent of the "420" legions upon Bristol. Hundreds, not a mere scattering, but a veritable horde, converged in Castle Park, prompting even the pigeons to regard the assembled throng with bewildered pity while suffering mild hallucinations.
The headline speaks of an "annual tradition," yet we know the unvarnished truth: this is a yearly pilgrimage to the altar of altered states, a mass public declaration of recreational botany. One can only imagine the scene: the air thick with the cloying aroma of cannabis, instruments of its consumption, and a general air of relaxedness threatening Bristolian decorum.
But whence did this day of national, nay, global celebration originate? Prepare yourselves for a tale steeped in counter-culture. In the primordial soup of 1971 California, where sunshine and questionable ideologies bloomed, a clandestine cadre of people, driven by an unholy quest for a mythical motherlode of the forbidden foliage, chose 4:20 pm as their meeting time. This whispered conspiracy, amplified by the nefarious gazette High Times, has inexplicably morphed into a worldwide observance. Yes, 4:20 pm is now the sacrosanct hour when these enthusiasts gather to appreciate the "community spirit" – a spirit fueled by THC.
And the bewildering taxonomy of this stuff! Whispers abound of "strains" with names like rejects from a psychedelic flower show: "Blue Dream," "Girl Scout Cookies," "OG Kush." Are these botanical abominations grown in clandestine greenhouses, engineered to unlock realms of irresponsibility? The mind reels! And the accoutrements! Elaborate glass contraptions resembling scientific equipment (but clearly not for pond scum), ingenious rolling papers in alarming colours, vaporizers emitting plumes of not steam – a Pandora's Box of leisure-inducing devices, each a testament to the ingenuity of those seeking a less strenuous existence.
Consider the influence of this herb on our culture, particularly the dreaded "Swinging Sixties." A time of rising hemlines, disorienting dance moves, and the creep of cannabis into popular music. Impressionable people, their minds softened by revolutionary sounds, further succumbed to the siren call of the jazz cabbage at pop festivals, the air thick with patchouli oil and the unmistakable aroma of rebellion.
Many musicians of that era, those supposed artistic geniuses, were operating under the influence. Imagine the audacity! Swaying on stage, yet somehow finding the correct strings, their psychedelic pronouncements often sounding suspiciously like the ramblings of someone overly familiar with the aforementioned foliage. The very notion that creativity could be enhanced by such means was outrageous to the traditional, old-school, professional musician! True art springs from a mind uncluttered by extraneous botanical interventions, it was thought by an increasing number of new and excited creatives.
The impact on songwriting during this era was particularly concerning to some. Wholesome ballads were replaced by songs filled with metaphorical lyrics, unsettling imagery, and a distinct lack of discernible meaning. Could this have been attributed to cannabis? The circumstantial evidence is suggestive. Countless hours were likely wasted by earnest souls attempting to decipher lyrics born from herbal cigarettes. The cultural ramifications were staggering, a slippery slope leading to tie-dye and beanbag chairs. The swinging sixties, it seems, were swinging wildly on the hazy tendrils of a Class B drug! The shame put on them by those of a generation back!
But let us not forget the insidious whispers of cannabis as a "healing plant." Poppycock! This was a cunning ruse to normalise this vice. While history books may speak of ancient civilisations using it for various ailments – a claim undoubtedly fabricated by the cannabis lobby – its true purpose was to induce mindlessness, allowing escape from the harsh realities of taxes and tedious meetings. The idea that this aggressively commercialised plant once served a natural function became laughable. Its then current iteration, divorced from its natural state, was clearly designed to corrupt.
Indeed, the commercialisation of cannabis, to some, suddenly became the ruination of Western society! Once a humble weed, it was been twisted into a commodity, a symbol of hedonism. Slick marketing and celebrity endorsements became a carefully orchestrated plot to undermine our values. Gone were honest toil and civic duty, replaced by a culture of relaxation. Mark my words, this "420" and all it stands for is a slippery slope leading to a lot of people feeling peckish and wanting to watch cartoons. Still! The principle of the thing! Hide the children! Lock the liquor cabinets! For 420 has been, and the moral fabric of Bristol yet again may never recover! Well, at least until next year’s 420.
