Drugs

New drug-driving regulations came into force on Monday, establishing legal limits for the levels of sixteen intoxicating substances in the blood. Eight are illegal drugs, and eight are legal, prescription drugs. Police are being issued with new roadside testing kits, though these can only detect the presence of cocaine and THC (the main psychoactive ingredient in cannabis). Others suspected of driving under the influence will still have to be taken down to the station for a blood test. The limits set for the illegal drugs are, perhaps unsurprisingly, lower than those set for prescription drugs. I am not about to argue for leniency in cases of drug driving, but the

Channel 4 is due to air its pseudo-scientific ‘Jon Snow stoned’ show The Cannabis Trials (or Drugs and How Not To Enjoy Them). Presumably intended to reignite national conversation about the government’s antiquated approach to narcotics, it seems unlikely that images of Snow wigging out will do much to advance the debate. I used to be a regular weed smoker, and contrary to the conclusions of last week’s leader in The Spectator, I take the view that weed should be made legally available on a modestly regulated market, much like alcohol. I am not alone. Last week a new political party was formed under the name CISTA (Cannabis Is Safer Than Alcohol). In

So far Channel 4’s Drugs Live series has examined the effects of ecstasy while next month’s installment will look into cannabis use. However, for those wondering which illicit substance will be next, the programme’s host Dr Christian Jessen is unsure about the show’s future. Speaking to Mr Steerpike at The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel premiere in Leicester Square, Jessen confessed that getting permission from the Home Office for each programme is proving a hard task. ‘We’re slightly limited by whether we can get the Home Office to give us permission because obviously these drugs are illegal so doing experiments on them requires all these complicated licenses. They’re really difficult. I’d like to do something like mushrooms next but it

Can I write an entire blog post about one sentence? I’d certainly like to. The sentence in question is ‘The potent form of the drug, known as ‘skunk’, is so powerful that users are three times more likely to suffer a psychotic episode than those who have never tried it.’ It’s from a piece in the Mail on Sunday which claims in its headline that ‘scientists show [not “research suggests”, you notice] cannabis TRIPLES psychosis risk: Groundbreaking research blames ‘skunk’ for 1 in 4 of all new serious mental disorders.’ The MoS is infuriatingly pleased with itself for having got hold of this research ahead of publication – they’re pitching

[audioplayer src=”http://traffic.libsyn.com/spectator/TheViewFrom22_30_Oct_2014_v4.mp3″ title=”Henry Jeffreys and Sarah Coghlan join Mary Wakefield to discuss Movember and other wackiness.” startat=1456.1] Listen [/audioplayer]Some men are growing facial hair for Movember but lots of people are just trying not to go bald. Male pattern baldness affects half of men over the age of 50, according to the British Association of Dermatologists. But that’s not all – half of women over the age of 65 are also grappling with hair loss. Usually, though, their hair thins, rather than disappearing quite so radically as it does in men. So what can both sexes do to preserve their crowning glory, or mitigate what they’ve lost? 1. See your

Lacking in pep? Looking for some extra zing as winter sets in? The Spectator recommends our energy conference on 1 December. Tickets are still available, sign up here. I don’t want this to become the ‘Tom Tells You To Get High’ blog, so this will be the last time I write about cannabis for awhile, I promise. Unless there’s something interesting in the news about it again. Anyway, pass the dutchie on the left-hand side and all that. The Daily Mail, the BBC and the Telegraph report that teenagers who smoke cannabis regularly do worse in their exams. Per the Mail: ‘The findings. . . add to a growing weight of evidence

Sometimes I read things that really get on my wick, and last week was one of those times. A new, ‘definitive’ 20-year study has ‘demolished the argument that the drug [cannabis] is safe’, according to the Daily Mail. Has it, though? There are various things wrong with that claim. One, no study is ‘definitive’; two, the research was not a ’20-year study’, but a review of other studies carried out over the last 20 years. There are lots other things wrong with the coverage, too, including the startlingly ridiculous claim that cannabis is ‘as addictive as heroin’. Even according to the research itself, less than one-tenth of people who try

New powers to tackle the huge growth in ‘legal’ highs are set to be introduced. Dame Sally Davies, the chief medical officer, is said to be pushing for the most radical move, a blanket ban on all psychoactive substances. My heart sinks. Do those at the top of government really think that a blanket ban will solve the problem? The evidence doesn’t suggest so: prohibition very rarely reduces drug use. So why do they think that an even more extreme level of prohibition will help? New varieties of ‘legal’ high will be invented and put on sale on the internet. Many of these drugs are already imported from foreign websites,

Upon seeing the headline ‘Paracetamol does not help lower back pain’, I found myself emitting a small (well – actually quite a large) sigh. The image of queues of angry patients brandishing pitchforks and newspapers, demanding to know why I’ve been withholding ‘the good stuff’ and tricking them into taking pointless pills, came to my mind. I worry about health articles in the general press, particularly the transformation of clinical trials and evidence into headlines and soundbites; that the reader won’t necessarily read the whole article, or account for the limitations of the evidence, just taking home a simple one-liner: in this case, that paracetamol – arguably the most widely

Great God, Vegas is an awful place. I realised this the moment I arrived. My cab driver — who’d been perfectly agreeable en route from the airport — mistook my post-flight sluggishness for reluctance to give him a tip, and drove off angrily cursing me as I fumbled in my pockets. The line just for the check-in desk was about a mile long. Everyone was fat and drunk and dressed for the beach. Outside it was too hot: 105°F at 5 p.m. Inside, it was too cold from the relentless air-conditioning. Everywhere had the style and charm and tastefulness of Redditch. By day three I’d had enough. ‘Don’t stay in Vegas

Glastonbury weekend is upon us, and the bores are out in force. West London buzzes to the sound of hoorays buying drugs, and the army surplus stalls of Portobello Market are making a killing. Conversation in these parts has been reduced to a long in-joke. Ask what’s so funny and you’ll get the same response: ‘Yah, sorry darl – it’s a Glasto thing.’ The same is probably true in every posh postcode in Britain. I’ve never been to Glastonbury and probably never will – but God have I heard enough about it. ‘Veteran’ friends look at me as one would an idiot child, explaining the life-changing wonder that I’m missing.