Retro ‘Indoor’ Grow

**Herbitual** · 24-12-17, 07:48 PM

Firstly, as this was technically 'indoor' this is probably the best room.

Secondly, I’ll say at the outset that I have no pictures of this grow. In those days, photos were processed in a factory and you’d often get a sticker placed on them, manually, telling you to adjust your focus or whatever. In short, you’d never risk taking pics of your weed.

Anyway, I digress – to be honest, that may well happen a lot more before I finish this.

It was 1998. I was engaged, no kids, working in Central London and living in Sevenoaks, Kent.

The house had cost £150,000, which for a 31 year old and his bird, wasn’t an inconsequential sum then. However, the reason I pushed for it, primarily, was that it had a conservatory. A beautiful, massive, south-facing conservatory.

I’d kept my growing-plan secret until the day we moved in. “You know? This would be a brilliant place to, I don’t know, grow something to assist your father.”

“Tomatoes?”

“No – something to help with his disability.”

“He hasn’t got a disability.”

“Oh? I thought he…look…he will after he’s smoked this.”

It wasn’t a sudden process. We didn’t have access to the internet. I’d spilt enough fishing hemp to know how easy it grew. I’d also smoked enough plastic in gack by then to know I’d prefer my own supply.

But how? Any knowledge was only what I’d picked up, word of mouth, for the previous 15 or so years. (Knowledge was limited only to how to distinguish male from female plants – nothing existed beyond that, verbally)

I let it slide for a while; we settled into the new house and took day trips to places like Greeenwich Market in that London.

Greeenwich Market – lovely, lovely Greenwich Market.

It was on one such jaunt that I found a tiny head shop . Everything was aimed at the smoker. It was heaven. And the counter area was glass. And through that glass I saw seeds. I remember the pack. Generic weed, no branding, no “100% feminized seeds”, no promises. No information. Clearly, I bought them.

A few days later, I planted them.

It was mid-May.

All I had was some shitty, dried out compost used for indoor plants and a terracotta pot of about 5 litres – tiny.

Before this moment, I’d last planted a seed, a mustard seed, in Primary School. I was clueless.

I threw the soil in, tapped the clay pot on the ground, saturated it, pushed a pencil about 2 inches into the soil, dropped a seed in, covered it over and fucked off to watch Baddiel and Skinner or some such goings on.

Obviously, I completely forgot about it for a week. The sun rose 7 times before I bothered to look at the pot again, but there it was. She was actually growing.

“Would you look at that!”

My interest started growing directly in proportion with the new love of my life.

Growth, for both of us, was exponential.

I did nothing but water her. No feed, no training, no topping, no pruning – nothing. Just plain tap water.

At no point was she ever anything less than ‘dry’ green.

By early August she was taller than me - 6ft.

By September, she’d hit the top of the conservatory – 8ft plus.

I had no reference point for what was a good grow. I did not know that the top cola, being rugby-ball sized was notable. I did not know that the very many side branches that looked like dozens of tennis balls in tubes were incredible. Sure, it seemed incredible, but, jeez, who knows?

I did not know about trichomes or when to chop other than when it looked like what I’d previously bought. I did not know how to dry it. I did not know what curing was.

I did not even know that when you do chop, you have to prune the buds, but we did, anyway, purely out of instinct. And it did stink. And it did take many hours.

I shoved all of the trimmed buds on to some newspaper, whacked it in the airing cupboard for 3 days and weighed it bone dry: 12.5oz….twelve point fucking five! Dry!

Me and my mates just fell about laughing. It was stored in 3 or so large containers - about the size of a box of cereal – it was more weed than we’d ever seen in one place.

Dense, lovely looking buds…and soooo much.

And the best part of this whole thing is this: It was, without question, undeniably, and still talked about to this day, the very, very best weed we have ever, and ever will, smoke.

The funniest, most hilarious, happiest, most stupid narcotic smoke we’ve ever had.

I was in Amsterdam late November this year (it’s not what it was, btw) and the same two mates were with me and we’re stoned and having a great time and everything, and we still agreed that the Conservatory Weed was the apex.

So the moral of the story is this: don’t smoke before you start writing this stuff as you’ll forget the moral of the story by the end.

;-)

Happy Christmas, all.

**OakyShades** · 25-12-17, 08:37 PM

Happy Christmas Herb. Lovely back story.

**RASTA** · 25-06-20, 01:43 PM

Old thread....but deserves a bump. Such an enjoyable read. Made my day this Herb lol

He will have a disability after he smokes this.....tears literally running down my face man

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**Herbitual** · 25-06-20, 02:07 PM

Worth also pointing out that you could get 110% mortgages in those days. A bloke owning the right shares, walking his dog outside your house, owned more of it than you did.