I tried smoking cannabis when I was 15.


I was at a house party when I was passed a poorly wrapped joint by a boy who was two years above me at school. It (the spliff, not the heartthrob) stunk of burning tyres and looked like it would set my fringe on fire. I took five or six puffs, tried not to cough my guts up in front of cool-older-boy and styled it out.


An hour later, after nausea had passed, I guzzled half a pack of Jaffa Cakes and a Toffee Crisp. The sugar was infinitely more pleasurable than the drugs, and I couldn’t help wondering what all the fuss was about. Frankly, I didn’t get it – and to add insult to injury, I don’t even like Jaffa Cakes.


So, when the beauty industry got in a tizzy about CBD – hailing it as the latest ‘miracle’ skin care ingredient – I was underwhelmed.


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