Good news for booze-happy Britons who are advised today to go easy on their wholesale tippling. It’s easy to give up, and this from a fellow who drank a bottle of wine almost every night for … well, for about 20 years.
|Cheers! ... Boozy Brits, reports The Guardian today. Here's a sure-fire way to kick that expensive habit.|
I have to admit that at least one was opened almost every day, even in storms.
Now I’m a wowser and have been for, yes, twenty years again. But back in my journalism days – journalism daze perhaps – to drink lots every day was just normal.
A supper break in Fleet Street, for instance, meant that just about all of the journalistic staff would meet at a corner pub, usually no more than a corner away.
Looking back, it seems horrendous, wasteful and self-harming.
And yet that’s what almost all of us did, following the drunken history of newspapermen before us since, well, almost since the trade was invented.
The good news for those who would like to give up, who ought to give up, follows. Regulars to this blog page will know of the ambush that left me in jail for eight years. I was visiting friends in Hampshire when a gang from the now-defunct customs department ambushed the house.
|What a surprise to realise that I didn’t miss it for a moment - not in that first month, in the first year, nor in any of the eight years till dear friends who owned the ambushed home, Pat and Gerry, came to take me home.|
A prisoner for eight years
However, they needed a 'smuggler' to convict an alleged drugs gang, and I remained a prisoner for eight years.
The cure for regular boozing happened thanks to the unconscionable ambushers. Being locked away means that enjoying a bottle of wine a day belongs suddenly to the past.
For all those years, there was no chance of tasting even a teaspoon of it.
Much more dominated my thinking, at least for the first few weeks.
However, when that complete change of circumstances gradually became my ‘normal’ life, I often recalled the, er, relaxation I would have been enjoying.
What a surprise
What a surprise, though, to realise that I didn’t miss it for a moment - not in that first month, in the first year, nor in any of the eight years till dear friends who owned the ambushed home, Pat and Gerry, came to take me home.
The state and crooked 'justice' (our envy of the world) had snatched my home, my yacht, my savings, everything. So actually Pat and Gerry came to take me to a friend’s where I would be lodging.
I couldn’t afford to start drinking again, that’s true, but the lesson for others is that I really felt no desire to.
In my experience, to give up the filthy habit, you need a distraction for a few days, and you could well be cured of what seems to me now as the craziest (and most expensive) and probably most harmful habit of a lifetime.