The demon drink

I've seen the same 'meme', a Q & A thing, on three different blogs I follow in recent days. I've never posted one myself, and don't intend to start now - the answers to many of the questions are scattered about in this blog, and, to some extent, in the attitudes and opinions of some of my fictional characters in Nephelokokkygia, all fiction being autobiography, and all that! - but one question which I probably haven't really addressed directly is my relationship with what might be called 'chemical vices'. Two of the three items in the question concerned are simply and quickly answered - I've never taken any sort of 'recreational drug', and never wanted to, the consciousness I have is more than adequate, and I've never smoked, not even a single drag on a single cigarette, and, again, never wanted to - indeed, I tried to convince my parents, both of whom smoked, to give up, right back to when I was 6 or 7 years old.
The third element of the question, though, my dealings with and attitude towards alcohol, is rather a different matter. I first remember trying beer, a mere sip of my dad's pint at a horse show, of all things, probably the only horse show we ever went to, when I was about 7, and, predictably at that age, didn't like it at all. By the time I was around 12, though, I'd found a drink I did like, albeit that I only had it a few times, at family parties, Christmas and the like - port and lemonade. I was never allowed more than two, though, and my dad always made them suitably weak, so there was never any question of me being drunk at that age. The first time I can remember drinking enough to feel the effects of the alcohol was at a cousin's wedding reception when I was 14 - my dad was drinking lager, unusually for him, bitter was normally his thing, and I 'borrowed' quite a bit of it, probably drinking around three pints' worth over the course of the evening. Again, not enough to be drunk, but enough to get the 'buzz'. As I moved through my teens, I did drink from time to time, mostly at parties, but managed to avoid being drunk, mostly because I never had enough money, apart from one occasion, when I was 15, and went to a pub (as a customer) for the first time, with a school friend who had a part time job and more money than me. We were both big for our age, and had no trouble getting served in this particular back street local in our home town. I remember drinking four pints, and being distinctly wobbly when I got indoors - it took my mum all of about five seconds to deduce my condition! I went straight to bed, and woke up the next morning with my head spinning more than a little, but I wasn't deterred, and when I got a part time job of my own, eighteen months or so later, I have to admit that the greater part of my wages ended up being passed over various bars. It was at that age, around 17, and almost legally old enough to be served, that I started going out with my dad fairly regularly. He said he would have taken me with him earlier, but wanted me to be able to pay my own way, buy a round, which was a fair enough attitude. Maybe I've given the impression that my dad was a big drinker, but he wasn't, really - he went to the pub maybe two or three times a week, Sunday lunchtime being 'his' time, particularly, and almost never drank at home, something that stayed with me for a long time, well into my adult life, the idea that if you wanted a drink, you went out, the social side of pub life being more important an element than the mere consumption of alcohol.
As time went on, though, and I started my first full time job, I began to drink far more, and far more regularly, than my dad ever had. There was still, very often, though, a social element - like my dad, I almost never even kept alcohol at home, still less drank it there - I went out to meet up with friends, played darts, eventually became involved with pub quizzes, but I did consume more alcohol than almost anyone else I knew. There were occasions when I was drunk, even, rarely, to the point of being physically sick, and I was accused by various people, at different times, of being an alcoholic, but I didn't believe, and still don't, that was (or is) the case. I've only ever missed one day's work through the after-effects of alcohol, and that was after a completely unexpected meeting with an old friend who I'd not only not seen for several years, but who I'd actually thought was dead (he did, in fact, attempt suicide after his marriage broke up), I've never become violent through drinking, and I've never driven drunk, or even close to it. I did go through a phase, for quite a bit of the time I lived in Cornwall, of drinking at home, of habitually having beer and wine in the fridge, but that was largely instead of going to the pub, for reasons of cost, rather than in addition, and now that I'm on my own in Surrey, I've reverted to my earlier pattern, of going out for a drink, mostly on my days off up in London. There are doubtless still those who would say I drink too much, and they might well be right, certainly in relation to governmental guidelines on 'responsible' drinking, but, ultimately, I drink because I want to, because I enjoy it, rather than because I have to, in an addictive sense. And, after a 'dry' week this week, being on nights, I'll be very surprised if I don't find myself on licensed premises at some stage during my day off tomorrow. Cheers!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B