Upon drinking two bottles of wine, the following is the conversation always had, when drinking with Oirish mates:
'No, I really should be going. Work in the morning and all that... (*Nobody replies*) Alright then, you've twisted me arm. One for the road!'
Then:
'One for the ditch!'
Followed by:
'For the puddle.. thing, water road thing... pothole, whatever, just keep pouring.'
Next:
'Theee... grasss verge. Here vergy vergy.'
A last, not completely honest, attempt to leave:
'No more. No more. Pleasssssssssssse. Ok... A wee drop. A drop. Oh go on then....'
Crashing:
'What else you got? Yes, I drink martini bianco. God, it's lovely. What does it taste of?'
Fecked:
'Bleurrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.'
Do I learn? Never. In Ireland, you are never an alcoholic - just a 'good time drinker.' Now by good time, they mean 3 shots away from blacking out. Most of my mates drink in this fashion. It wasn't until my Australian Husband met my mates, did I question our drinking habits. Husband couldn't fathom how we could start drinking at midday and still be standing, albeit swaying side to side like a weeble (wobbling, but never falling down) at midnight. He now 'ripcords' around 8pm - just as I'm kicking off my heels and demanding the DJ play Gaga.
Now, as I approach 40 I am more aware than ever, of how other people drink. By other people, I mean the non-Irish folk I know. They all civilly sip a martini - maybe one more, and call it a night. Martini no2, for me is the mere starter. I'm only warming up. Or as we say in my neck of the woods 'getting a thirst on.'
I wish that I was one of those 'I know my limit' drinkers. But I don't - because I don't really have a limit - well, maybe when I'm talking on the big white telephone - or lying on the ground clicking my heels singing 'there's no place like home,' while people on the street step over me... But on most occasions, there is always time for 'just one more.' I've lost count of how many evenings I've been with FRIENDS WITH LIMITS and I say 'one for the road?' and they shake their healthy heads and say 'No, I'd better not.' I'm shamed into saying, 'Yeah. Better get the bill eh?' When inwardly I'm thinking, but I know my name. I know where I am - therefore, there is ALWAYS time for another. Probably more after that....
The enemy of me - the limitless drinker - is the pretend drinker. You know the type: they order a drink, stew on it forever, then move to soft drinks that look like double vodka tonics - and then the next day they joyously recount in minuscule detail just exactly how embarrassing you were. Because the beauty of drinking - is that you simply can't remember what you did. In your mind - you've been HILARIOUS, rather than the know-it-all blethering mess that you were. But the pretend drinker - they know the truth and by god, they're gonna tell it. Or worse, have a little video on their phone. Bless them.
I want to be a pretend drinker. Or those social types that always have a glass in hand but pace themselves so anything more than a three units and they've called a cab. These people remember to take their make up off, whereas I'm lucky to take my clothes off, and they return home with keys and their phone and not the hot barman who is barely 20.
But I am not this type of drinker. I am a lush. Or maybe one step up the ladder from that...
From the first delicious sip, Mama alcohol has me in her grip. I want more. I want the initial buzz, n the glowing haze, the slurry warm comfortable lull, that segues into 'I'm ten foot tall and bullet roof - and I dance like Beyoncé - WATCH!' I want that next drink. Followed by a shot....
So, as my liver prepares for the carnage that will be my 40th birthday party (whoop - next Saturday!!!) I salute those that know how to drink gracefully. Who neck a swift few over dinner and then have a coffee, rather than grab a bottle of port. They wake up feeling frisky and are celebrating 40 by entering marathons. I am celebrating 40 by having a margarita bar at my party, making everyone dress as pimps and hookers through the ages and forcing the DJ to play such classics as 'If I could turn back time.' What is a party without tequila and Cher, I ask you?
If I remember any of it - it won't have been a good night....
'No, I really should be going. Work in the morning and all that... (*Nobody replies*) Alright then, you've twisted me arm. One for the road!'
Then:
'One for the ditch!'
Followed by:
'For the puddle.. thing, water road thing... pothole, whatever, just keep pouring.'
Next:
'Theee... grasss verge. Here vergy vergy.'
A last, not completely honest, attempt to leave:
'No more. No more. Pleasssssssssssse. Ok... A wee drop. A drop. Oh go on then....'
Crashing:
'What else you got? Yes, I drink martini bianco. God, it's lovely. What does it taste of?'
Fecked:
'Bleurrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.'
Do I learn? Never. In Ireland, you are never an alcoholic - just a 'good time drinker.' Now by good time, they mean 3 shots away from blacking out. Most of my mates drink in this fashion. It wasn't until my Australian Husband met my mates, did I question our drinking habits. Husband couldn't fathom how we could start drinking at midday and still be standing, albeit swaying side to side like a weeble (wobbling, but never falling down) at midnight. He now 'ripcords' around 8pm - just as I'm kicking off my heels and demanding the DJ play Gaga.
Now, as I approach 40 I am more aware than ever, of how other people drink. By other people, I mean the non-Irish folk I know. They all civilly sip a martini - maybe one more, and call it a night. Martini no2, for me is the mere starter. I'm only warming up. Or as we say in my neck of the woods 'getting a thirst on.'
I wish that I was one of those 'I know my limit' drinkers. But I don't - because I don't really have a limit - well, maybe when I'm talking on the big white telephone - or lying on the ground clicking my heels singing 'there's no place like home,' while people on the street step over me... But on most occasions, there is always time for 'just one more.' I've lost count of how many evenings I've been with FRIENDS WITH LIMITS and I say 'one for the road?' and they shake their healthy heads and say 'No, I'd better not.' I'm shamed into saying, 'Yeah. Better get the bill eh?' When inwardly I'm thinking, but I know my name. I know where I am - therefore, there is ALWAYS time for another. Probably more after that....
The enemy of me - the limitless drinker - is the pretend drinker. You know the type: they order a drink, stew on it forever, then move to soft drinks that look like double vodka tonics - and then the next day they joyously recount in minuscule detail just exactly how embarrassing you were. Because the beauty of drinking - is that you simply can't remember what you did. In your mind - you've been HILARIOUS, rather than the know-it-all blethering mess that you were. But the pretend drinker - they know the truth and by god, they're gonna tell it. Or worse, have a little video on their phone. Bless them.
I want to be a pretend drinker. Or those social types that always have a glass in hand but pace themselves so anything more than a three units and they've called a cab. These people remember to take their make up off, whereas I'm lucky to take my clothes off, and they return home with keys and their phone and not the hot barman who is barely 20.
But I am not this type of drinker. I am a lush. Or maybe one step up the ladder from that...
From the first delicious sip, Mama alcohol has me in her grip. I want more. I want the initial buzz, n the glowing haze, the slurry warm comfortable lull, that segues into 'I'm ten foot tall and bullet roof - and I dance like Beyoncé - WATCH!' I want that next drink. Followed by a shot....
So, as my liver prepares for the carnage that will be my 40th birthday party (whoop - next Saturday!!!) I salute those that know how to drink gracefully. Who neck a swift few over dinner and then have a coffee, rather than grab a bottle of port. They wake up feeling frisky and are celebrating 40 by entering marathons. I am celebrating 40 by having a margarita bar at my party, making everyone dress as pimps and hookers through the ages and forcing the DJ to play such classics as 'If I could turn back time.' What is a party without tequila and Cher, I ask you?
If I remember any of it - it won't have been a good night....
3 comments:
Travelling has truly made me realise how much we British also drink and how bad our reputation for being pissheads is!
Oh Jesus you have just described me.... And not as one of the careful ones! I have no limits I just keep going and then I die the nex day...
In some places, drinking alcohol is like a sin. For some people it is like an act of disrespect. I don't understand why people thinks so. Until drinking doesn't harm yourself and others, it is okay to drink. What's the point?
Regards,
Finn Felton
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