On a bright and breezy afternoon last month I strolled into my local and plonked myself down at the bar. It was pretty quiet all in all. Whiskey Ken was in, staring blankly at The Daily Mirror while he sipped his usual double Famous Grouse; James and Jake, or the Brickie Brothers as we all call them, were playing pool and talking about a night out they had planned. Mike the Poet, so called for his habit of serenading potential dates, was at the bar chatting away to Public School Steve (you can work that one out on your own). Behind the bar, Lara and Tara were talking about last nights TV output. It was the usual mixed crowd of casual intellectuals, beautiful people and reformed psychopaths. Lara saw me and smiled brightly. Pint of Kronie, Booger?
I shook my head. No thanks. Orange juice, please.
Oh, bless! Are you hung over again?
I shook my head again. Actually, no, I said. Im off the booze for a bit. Stunned silence for a second, then gales of laughter all round. Whiskey Ken spluttered Grouse all over the gossip pages of The Mirror (I frantically looked for a lighter to torch the 3am girls while I had the chance), and James went to lamp me for making him miss his shot. Lara was reaching for a pint glass and shaking her head. Off the booze. You crack me up you do!
Actually, Lara, it wasnt a joke. Stunned silence for several seconds. It went on just long enough to get uncomfortable, so I started my story to break it. Ysee, I was at home the other night, and I was watching a DVD, really enjoying it. But because I had the day off in the morning I decided to have a few beers while watching it. Anyway, I decided to review it, yknow, for the site. I sat down to write and couldnt remember the film. Worse than that, I couldnt even type proper sentences. It was crap, just really random, rambling stuff. So I went back into the living room to tidy up my empties, and thats when I realised why I was being rubbish. <*dv_0*> Why? asked Public School Steve as he glugged down his Guinness.
I was being rubbishbecause Id had eight cans of Stella that night. I was fucked.
<*dv_1*> Eight Stellas aint much, said Jake. Sbout normal for a night out, innit?
Jake, youre a twat, I said lightly. It wasnt a night OUT, it was a night IN. I was watching a film on my own and I got trashed. I justI started to wonder if I had a bit of a problem. Tara piped up. Booger, you CANT not drink. Youre out every weekend and you always tell me what a great time you have. Comparing drunken stories with you makes Sunday lunchtimes bearable. I responded with this:
Question for you, Tara. Actually, for all of you. How many times have you told someone you had a great night, then, when theyve asked what you did, you reply Dunno, I was wasted? Silence for the third time that afternoon. Ive been giving it a lot of thought guys, I said. It wasnt just the other night. I started thinking about everything else that goes hand in hand with boozing. My hangovers are getting worse, for one. But that might be because it takes more to get me trashed, so I drink more. And that leads me onto point two, when I started thinking about how much money I spent on booze. I took a swig of orange juice and longed to put vodka in it.
Hang on a second, Booger. It was Mike the Poet. Youve spent YEARS on this whole rock and roll booze thing. I thought you were going to be the Keith Richards of the literary world?
Did I say that?
Yeah, youve said it to me loads of times.
Normally around about 11pm though wasnt it?
Edgily: Whats your point?
I WAS PISSED WHEN I SAID IT!
Alright, alright. Cor, dont he get moody when hes sober.
Arsehead, Im ALWAYS moody. Im just more relaxed with it after about four absinthes. But Mike wasnt done. What about the image then? What about all your idols? Bill Hicks, Richards, Johnny Cash. What about Stephen King? I thought he was the first person to make you want to be a writer? He was a right pisshead in his day.
Well, they all gave up in the end, I replied. Except for Keith Richards, and who wants to look like THAT when theyre sixty? Plus, Stephen King couldnt even remember one book he wrote when he was pissed, so dont go giving me that. Public School Steve had been quite for a while. Hes a bit of a nice-but-dim type you see, and I think he was still trying to catch up with the rest of us.
What about the fact that youre more confident when youve had a beer, Booger? Didnt you tell me youd still be a virgin without booze?
Everyone creased up.
Shut the fuck up! I vowed to have words with Steve later. That part may have been true, but if you OD on the booze then youre no use in the sack either and every one of you knows it. And as far as confidence goes, I'm more confident when I'm hyper as well. I'll just have to get a sugar buzz on nights out. Not so much laughter THAT time, Jake was especially quiet and I made a mental note to rip the piss out of him after speaking to Steve. Despite feeling happy with myself, I sensed Id bummed them all right out. Theres always a good atmosphere in that boozer, and I didnt want to be the one to kill it.
Im only trying it out, Its not like Im gonna become teetotal or anything. Not just yet anyway. Its just a little experiment, thats all. James put down his cue and came over to the bar. He clapped me on the back. Good one Booger. Give it a shot, nothing to lose is there? With that he threw down a twenty and got a round in for everyone. The rest of the night was one long, slow blur. I sipped Coke after Coke and tried to relax a bit. I played the quiz machine and cleaned up a tidy sum (not sure if this was down to my reactions being quicker than normal or Whiskey Ken's considerable knowledge of British soap operas). I chatted away and didnt slur once. I even managed to keep the barbed comments coming with surprising frequency, and both Lara and Tara mentioned that they were just as funny as those I make when Im in my cups. The first day of the experiment was, in short, a bit of a winner.
Exactly one week later, and exactly the same people were in the pub. As I strode up to the door, I heard AC/DCs Back in Black start up on the jukebox. I pushed the door too hard and it swung back and smacked against the wall. Everyone looked over, startled. (Totally my intention.) Pint of Kronie please, Tara! I shouted while still near the door.
Didnt last too long on the wagon then? asked Mike the Poet with one eyebrow raised.
I reached the bar at exactly the same time as my pint. I picked it up, savoured the sight for a second, then downed half in one go. I patted Mikey on the back.
Ive been thinking, I began. After he gave up drinking, Steve Kings books became shite. Bill Hicks gave up booze but carried on doing hallucinogens, and Keith Richards rocks more than any other man on the face of the earth. Being teetotal is all fine and dandy, and if anyone wants to give it a go I wont take the piss, but it doesnt agree with me. I was out on Saturday night, and I was like a rain cloud over my friends heads. Much as it pains me to say it, I reckon Im okay with being a social drinker.
You mean binge drinker? said Public School Steve. I wasnt letting him show me up twice in a week, and loudly reminded him about playing the biscuit game when he was fifteen. He went bright red and squirmed for ten minutes while the girls behind the bar asked him to explain the rules. As the night progressed I rinsed out the Brickie Brothers at pool, scored a tenner from the quiz machine (without the help of the old Whiskey Ken and all he knows about shit TV), and nearly made a Burberry-clad teenager cry when Lara IDd him. But Booger, you cry. Surely the experiment was a total washout? Not at all. I tried it and didnt like it. Im obviously marked out by whatever higher power there is up there to be a boozer; hopefully the witty Peter Cook type over the bumbling Oliver Reed type. It suits me. Fair play to the teetotallers of the world (yep, even Clyde), Ive got a lot of admiration for you guys. If you want to stick to the softies, I'll take the beers. That's fine by me. Hey, one day I just might need one of you to give me a lift home from the pub.
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