Ah Ain't Got T' Blues No Mo' Ah Said

The Guardian's Celebrity Christmas piece features a mess of Limebags, of whom the collective 'Murkin we are no doubt better remaining in ignorance; nonetheless, fun from one:

Suzanne Moore: I dropped acid on Christmas Eve. At lunch the next day, I was freaked by the tinsel worms*

Suzanne Moore at 15. Photograph: Suzanne Moore

I am not sure if Christmas on LSD counts as good or bad. In my defence I was about 16 and, as my mother used to tell the neighbours, "against everything". Plus ça change. We used to do a lot of acid. Well, I lived in Ipswich, my boyfriend was a drug dealer and I wanted to expand my mind. We began quite reverently: reading Huxley and lots of RD Laing and then it just became something we did. I could go to school tripping away and my religious education teacher would say: "Are you on drugs, Moore?" To which I could say with 16-year-old insouciance: "Yeah I am actually, Miss." "Is it because you are from a broken home?" she would ask, believing this to be helpful.

But I was always far more interested in drugs than drink, which was freely available at home. My mum drank, and Christmas usually consisted of her shoving the dinner on the table, scotch in hand, crying and saying we were "gannets" for gobbling it up. The family dysfunction had become even more apparent with the death of my grandmother. My grandad, who was deaf, had to live with us, which meant the TV on full volume all the time. So I dropped the acid very late on Christmas Eve and went home at about 8am but my mum made me come down for Christmas dinner which, because we were working class, we had to have about noon. I was dressed in black and freaked out by tinsel worms everywhere. Crackers were possible bombs as my mum was so cross. Why did the chicken cross the road? This sent me down a corridor of massed chickens on zebra crossings. Were we eating a chicken that had crossed the road?

My mum was understandably angry and said I needed a drink. And gave me eggnog. My grandad (a Tory) had not been so cross since I had joined the Workers' Revolutionary party at 14. I was indeed being entirely selfish and was rebelling. Against what though?

My last memory is throwing up but being fascinated by the colours of my own puke. Mum may have slapped me at this point and I don't blame her.

But I really don't want to be a bad influence, kids. I think in the right circumstances acid is amazing but advocaat … it's lethal. Just say no.

Less gratuitous than usual accompanying musical number: Chicken references.

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*Reminds us of Bob Lewis (Real name!) who "dropped a tab" before crummy cafeteria dinner one Friday evening & later stated the spaghetti on his plate had been crawling like worms.