There’s nothing like a leisurely stroll through the cobbled twittens of olde Brighthelm town on a sunny day. 60s folkster Ralph McTell once sang “Let me take you through the streets of London, I’ll show you something to make you change your mind”. That song could easily apply to dear Brighton too, albeit with some of the lyrics changed, particularly the “London” bit. Anyway, in taking a trek around the streets of Brighton, and really looking at the people, you too could change your mind. McTell also sung about a “silver birch and a weeping widow“ which makes no sense to me at all.

Anyway, on my particular ramble around this liberal yet edgy idyll of ours, I walked past a drug centre just off the London Road, as the poor and addled addicts lined up for another shot of methadone, then shuffled through North Laine where the sweet scent of skunk wafted down the narrow streetlets from a gaggle of trés middle-class sk8ter bois before finally sauntering by a bunch of up-for-it weekend clubbers on North Street, down from Essex of some such place to get off their proverbial tits and have it rather large with a big bag of pills. And it was at that moment that I realised - illegal drugs are as much a part of Brighton as fish ‘n’ chips, juice bars and unbridled liberalism. So, why not embrace the uppers, downers, pills ‘n’ thrills and turn Brighton into Britain’s answer to Amsterdam?

While the so-called powers-that-be up in London and, indeed, in Brighton council wag their fingers at illegal substance “abuse” while the boys ‘n’ girls in blue continue their never-ending and pointless search for all those used needles in all those haystacks, in the real world, people, as they have always done, continue to get high on someone else’s supply. And the irony is, I’m pretty damn sure that a fair few of those MPs and our local councillors spend their lunchtimes honking on a crack pipe or puffing on an A-bomb. We all know it’s da truth.

I myself have, as one would expect of a cutting-edge, well-travelled culture-freak, indulged in various “dubious” substances, from dropping an early E or two with Oakenfold, Rampling and co. in Ibiza circa ’87 to imbuing the distilled urine of a male Senegalese bushbaby with the Inbanga tribe of west Africa (that was gap year and a half, and I can tell you!).

So, in short, we should be looking to make Brighton a shining Libertarian beacon, where drug taking is not something to be ashamed of. And before you Daily Mail-ites start getting your M&S knickers in a twist, I ain’t sayin’ that this will be an idyllic trouble-free revolution. But there’ll always be junkies, just as there’ll always be addicts, from Paul Gascoigne (drink) to Dawn French (food). Legal or illegal, that problem ain’t ever going to go away.

And with drugs and all its associated paraphernalia legalised and available in Brighton’s shops, eateries and, indeed, drinkeries, the taxes produced could be very handy indeed. Maybe the money could be used to re-build the west pier or fund Pride or the Beachdown festival? Or what about a new high-tech immigration centre in Hove Park?

Let’s be honest, we are all at it. From Meow meow to Marijuana, we, the people of Brighton, like our Class A,B and C’s. Indeed, the Palace Pier itself is a nothing short of a giant, technicolour needle, injecting liberalism and good vibes into the arm of junkie Britannia. So let’s get things out in the open. Let’s go Dutch and spliff the difference!