- CRITTER TALK
- NEWS I FIND INTERESTING
“What’s up Doc?” I asked
“Your liver and kidney function is fine. Your heart rate is fine, bladder function fine. In fact, despite your consumption of alcohol you are disgracefully healthy but you shouldn’t be”
I think he’s jealous.
I felt I should share my alcohol story if only to help those who believe it is an evil realise it isn’t.
It is an individual choice we make. Some can handle it psychologically and medically, some can’t. It’s that simple.
I’m lucky – up to now and I know it. Still, what’s life if you don’t push your luck and enjoy it?
My personal adventures with alcohol seem to have affected my constitution. I never get outrageously drunk only pleasantly tipsy.
It wasn’t always so of course. In my youth, I’ve woken up in fields, under the pool table of a pub, somebody’s front garden and various beds with females whose names I frequently couldn’t remember.
My parents despaired of me from age 15 when I first started coming home drunk, demanding my father pay the cab fare.
It came to something of a head after my mother refused me access to the home. I broke into the garage, lit a fire to keep warm – it was winter – and inadvertently burned down the garage.
Several houses had to be evacuated in case my father’s car exploded.
I found it expedient to move in with my grandparents thereafter.
They were extremely liberal in their views and didn’t mind me arriving home drunk with a varied selection of girls in tow.
The occasional irate father arriving on my grand parents doorstep being sent away courtesy of my grandmother’s walking stick being prodded into them.
I briefly continued my alcohol adventures in Britain’s beautiful Lake District where I discovered the joys of vodka in between working for the Forestry Commision.
I was happy in the small town of Ulverston until a group of irate fathers suggested I leave if I wished to retain important parts of my anatomy.
I suspect introducing their formally innocent daughters to the delights of vodka possibly didn’t help my case over much – although other activities were probably higher on their agenda.
After a brief drunken – no change there then – sojourn to my home town, where an equally brief membership with a ‘football firm’ introduced me to a violent side of alcohol, I found myself in the general region of London.
The first time my best school pal met my wife to be – he talked me into coming to London – he advised her that I had drunkenly shagged my way all around West London.
Since marriage and a child I have cheerfully desisted from the women thing but equally cheerfully continued alcohol adventures.
I have been party to an alcohol induced international incident in Belgium on a football (soccer) tour.
I have been barred from a gay bar in Swansea, Wales for protecting a gay friend from being raped.
I have drunk a hotel dry – really, I did – of bottles of ‘white beer’ in Klaipeda, Lithuania.
I have been chased down a road by a group of Nazi youth’s in Vienna, Austria for buying a black chap a beer.
I have – well – I could go on and on.
What I am trying to say is this.
People can become alcoholics. Alcoholics NEED alcohol.
The more fortunate lovers of alcohol don’t need it. We just love it. The way we feel when we’re drinking it.
I can take it or leave it. Sometimes I leave it. Sometimes I just drink coffee or milk.
Sometimes I go crazy and broadcast a radio show on an American owned internet radio station and, as a result of me drinking vodka – albeit I may well have done the same sans alcohol – I say things that cause Christian fundamentalists in America to send the owner e-mail death threats.
If you have a friend or family member who you are concerned about regarding their consumption of alcohol.
Consider the possibility that they are not, in fact, alcoholics. They are, in fact, in full control like me.
They haven’t got an alcohol problem.
They’re just happily nuts.
I once woke up aged 18, after a good night clubbing, with twins in my bed. I had no idea which was which or, indeed, what either of their names were.
I once woke up in a farmers barn being nuzzled by sheep. Hopefully nothing untoward happened with any of the sheep.
I once arrived on a train in Nottingham. I had no idea why I had decided to travel to Nottingham. I found a pub, met a young lady and spent the following night in a place I had no idea why I had even gone there.
At a gig in, I think, 81? – I somehow tottered backstage and, much to the delight of pals in the audience, joined the backing singers for the performance of Lene Lovitch.
I was unceremoniously removed three songs into the set.
If you keep control of alcohol and never let it control you, adventures galore await!
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