A special report from BBC Reporter.

I started my day at my attorney's house with a shady spliff. I was still feeling a trifle stoned & very hungry from the night before.

My attorney came into the dining room & made alot of bad noise down his mobile telephone about room service before I recovered my senses and took the damn thing off him. After strong columbian coffee we departed and on the way to the main road we paused to look in the kitbag.

We had had quite a drug collection the day before but after the previous night the kitbag now contained 17 E pills (spirals, a good brand) 1 slightly smoked spliff an open 1/4 ounce bag of grass, 7 amyls & a big pot of ground up pro plus caffiene pills, as we had not been able to find any speed at 9 A.M in Sheffield.

I had a pint of J&B bourbon in my jacket pocket and we also had, between us, £37.96.

We ate one of the pills each and carried on walking toward school.

As we arrived I began to feel the first waves of a drug frenzy run up and down my spine. My attorney said something like "I feel a bit light headed, they sure came on quick" & all of a sudden it was on us with Fiendish Intesity.

We staggered down the stairs to where the results were being distributed, giggling and laughing in an extremely menancing fashion. My attorney's pupils were the size of espresso cups, giving him the air of the terminally insane.

There were 4 members of christian union discussing their results at the bottom of the stairs & we were both feeling slightly loved up, so we hugged them, and moved on to the results room.

The hallucinations hit me like a W.I members handbag, and then I reallised I would have to explain to my form tutor in this goddamn state. "Jesus Christ" my attorney said "you're doomed! Just don't say anything untoward, just name, form & candidate number" I laughed "You should worry" I replied "That pterodactyl looks like your head of year" we both nearly screamed, composed ourselves, and were called in.

At this point my mind goes blank & the tape appears to have run out. All I remember is saying "indeed" several times. My next memory is sitting on a bench on the school lawn drinking the J&B "Holy Shit" I said "what the hell happened, tell me I terminally scared the fuckers" "unfortunatley not" he replied "you called ---- ----- (name deleted at insistance of publishers lawyer) who you have theatre studies with a cheap honkey scumbag, and a total failure, but aside from that I got you out in time"

We walked along to the off-licence. I seriously needed a can of beer. I walked in and picked up £16 worth of Red Stripe. The Hallucinations were just slight distortions now but I was feeling very cranked up. The owner caught me off balance and asked me if I had any I.D & and I panicked. Shit, I thought, I didn't see that coming.

"I'm sorry" I said Quickly "the ummm Conditions of the ahh Mental Health act prevent from holding a passport or a driving licence or passport" he laughed nervously as I smiled in the craziest way I could manage and handed over the money.

My Attorney & I left the shop quickly "Oh god man, Did you see that guys eyes we had a real freak on our hands. As your attorney I advise you to get back to my house as quickly as possible. The bastard is probably getting his axe right now" we ran most of the way back and arrived exausted.

We put the Beer in the refridgerator & got last nights curry out.

My attorney finished the spliff from the kitbag and I started to roll another couple whilst eating cold Jalfrezi, and we waited for the photographer the magazine had promised would come and meet us to turn up, as the locals were having some kind of party tonight, to celebrate their results.

The photographer arrived & We spent the afternoon getting drunk, hopelessly stoned & listening to Bob Dylan in the garden at maximum volume, Doubtless enraging some of the good God Fearing citizens of Sheffield. At around six in the post meridian we each ate 2 E's and went up to the party which was being held at someone's house about ten blocks away.

By the time we got to the party my attorney was singing Pink Floyd & jabbering about nothing in particular. We turned him loose inside and realised that the photographer and I weren't feeling any effects yet. I sat down on the step, cracked an amyl under my nose, opened a beer and pondered the problem briefly. Then the solution came to me. I found the photographer, a mirror (full legnth, antique looking frame) and took it up stairs, where I ground up some of the pills & mixed in some of the pro plus powder, untill we had a line about 14 inches long.

"Oh crap" I yelled realising my attorney had the money, and was so twisted he was probably trying to roll a joint in it. "Fuck" yelled the photographer, also realising our folly "the cheap honkey faggot would Do it as well" I grabbed the mace from the kitbag, ready for a struggle and ran down stairs.

He was in actual fact, attempting to roll Basil and chocolate crumbs into £10 bill, and judging by the looks of Fear& Loathing on the faces of those watching had found the worst possible place to do it, these people probably never smoked a cigarette. We quickly relieved him of the money and apologised profusely to the onlookers.

(Much of what followed that horrific episode will only be reportable once we find who we entrusted the tapes to) Sometime around five A.M my attorney began trying to set fire to soft furnishings and curtains so we left before the locals got even more hostile than they were and we had to soak them down with the mace.

Around 2 hours later I found myself at the station, stone broke, pouring sweat & and shaking in the midst of some horrific drug psychosis/comedown, with no tapes after 7p.m the previous day, a horrible mess of deranged scribbles in my notebook and a deadline in 24 hours, around 23 of which would be required to sleep off this terrible state.

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