Posts Tagged ‘binge-drinking’



“Teetotal” is strange word.

Why do people like myself need to have their own word so those who drink can can group them together and point at them?

Is drinking really that important and so ingrained in the public consciousness that there has to be a special word if you don’t do it? Well yes it is…everybody does it,and they do it a lot,or so the government would have us believe.It makes me feel abnormal.People do look at me strangely,as I found out to my cost in the OAP piss up I went to a couple of weekends back.I felt like a weird lifeform that had just landed.In order to shut them up I had a single glass of champagne (into which had been added an alarming “tot” of cassis,whatever that is)  to toast the old girl’s birthday (even though it wasnt her birthday…but that’s another story) but that was the first alcohol to pass my lips in over two years.And will be for the next two years.

And before you ask,yes,I did enjoy it.I didn’t want to drink it at all….but the grannies had,by this point,become increasingly restless and scary.

So am I actually teetotal?

Hmmm….time to set myself some ground rules,then.I’ll pretend it never happened,that should keep my conscience happy.



I never go out but if I did I could still have a good time without having to go home in an ambulance.To be honest I hate the taste of alcohol.I only put up with it for so long in order to be “social”…whatever that means…not wanting to look bad in front of my friends I suppose.I worked my way through several beverages in my younger days,from cider through to Bacardi,vodka,Southern Comfort,and finally settling on Jack Daniels (which I only started drinking because I was with a group of people and wanted to impress them with my choice of alcohol)  But luckily I liked Jack Daniels…he was a good friend to me for many years. I used to dabble with wine when the opportunity arose.I’m amazed that people can drink so much of it,especially red wine….it is vile.

Speaking of which,the worst I’ve ever been after drinking was when myself and a couple of friends went to Alton Towers for the weekend.For some reason,though probably in order not to look bad,I downed several cans of lager,something which I’ve never even liked.We all had about 10 cans each,and retired to my friend’s estate car which we were sleeping in.

We spent the rest of the night taking it in turns to vomit out of the doors.Nice….like a kind of synchronised puking team.

We still managed to survive the rides the next day,though.We had purged ourselves the night before.Nothing untoward came up on the Corkscrew.

Another notable time was at a colleague’s leaving do…I can’t remember much about the night,but the next day,on which of course I had to work,I spent most of the day shaking and shuffling around like Ozzy Osbourne.I think I had the DT’s..I don’t even know what they are but I think I had them.

Right…I’ve decided.No more champagne with 60 year-old ladies.

Carmarthen on a Sunday afternoon

A typical scene in Carmarthen...every bloody night...

It’s orange juice all the way.

They’ll just have to think of another way to get me into bed.

Next time–hopefully I will have stopped laughing at this ———–>

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I have absolutely nothing to blog about today,so please forgive me if I make random shit up.

Ooh I know…seeing that this blog has been going for about a fortnight,how about a few updates to previous blogs with some funny photos that i’ve spent all bloody afternoon finding because I have no life?


Sod ya then….because you’re getting it.

First up…a gross error of judgement.

Calendar fail…Alkie-Neighbour’s birthday party is TONIGHT.

The grannies have been ominously massing since midday.Worse still,they all know which house I live in,and I swear I saw a few of them look lustily in the general direction of my front door.

My life is in great danger…I saw the Octo-Drunk making sausage rolls earlier.

I fear the aged,wrinkled face at the door…the hideously gnarled hand upon my knocker.

I got her a card…stuck it through her box earlier,then legged it.I’ll pretend to be out for the rest of the evening,that should do it.

On a related not,I still have no light in the living room or landing.I haven’t been able to psych myself up to go and buy bulbs…although this may help me out this evening…hmmm…nice coincidence.

Talking of dolphins,I received a brochure in the post today about Community Education Courses.As I was about to funny-pictures-hermione-cat-knows-all-the-answersrecycle this delirious tome,I paused…and decided to give it a cursory glance.And I’m mightily glad I did because I am now going to sign up to a £50,ten-week course to teach me how to sell on eBay,while squeezing in a bit of pilates,yoga and introduction to massage…and perhaps a bit of lacemaking.

Ooh and belly-dancing…I need a bit of that.

On a more sobering note,it appears my last post caused a bit of a stir.Aspersions were cast on The Blog Dog’s kind and loving nature.

In short,that The Blog Dog was,in no uncertain terms,a “Bad Arse.”

I know,I know…I’m shocked too.

These accusations are completely false…The Blog Dog is NOT a “bad arse” of any kind,but would like to point out thatfpfanimal0 the extremely handsome young man who types out his blogs,known only as sabbathdei,is a complete and utter “bad arse” but nice with it.That is all.

And to bring this swiftly to a close because I fancy a cuppa,I’m still not married,still can’t drive,still love Duran Duran and am still totally single.

I thank you.

Next time…I’ll think of something serious to write about,I promise…

10648307On Saturday night I discovered what had hitherto been missing from my life…the image of my 80 year-old neighour falling on her arse whilst attempting to remove a Jim Reeves CD from her hi-fi and replace it with a Daniel O’Donnell one while also pissed on gin.

She managed it,though.

Ever been trapped on a sofa,sandwiched between two grannies under the influence with wandering hands?

I have…twice in the same night….different grannies though.I like to keep my options open.

The official (well,I looked at one website) definition of binge-drinking is 8 units for a man,6 for a woman,8 units being about 4 pints of lager.That’s over the course of one night…how about in one glass?

So there I was at my neighbour’s 80th birthday party (Perez Hilton eat your heart out),being told how lovely I am by inebriated widows and fending off the endless stream of “Oh you don’t drink….why,what’s wrong with you?” questions,and feeling,I admit,strangely at home with the wrinklies,thinking that I should go out more,and also realising that I hate going out.

A few yards across to next-door is all I can manage these days…my excuse is that I’m past it…even my other neighbours looked as if they could be my children.In fact my neighbour was in two minds about whether to invite me or not…I am a miserable unsocial git,it has to be said.

Of course,she is a nosey old cow,and the fact that she has such loyal friends came as a bit of a surprise to me.Admittedly they’re a bunch of alkies,but beggars can’t be choosers at her age I suppose.

I have no friends,that’s why I don’t go out…but would I if I did?

I am happy on my own…honestly.I don’t need anyone.So:

I don’t drink

I don’t smoke.

I don’t have a girlfriend/wife/life partner.

I don’t go out.

Therefore I found myself the focus of attention at the party.

They looked at me as if there was something wrong with me…granted you’re not going to be too popular if you profess your teatotal-ness in a house full of hardened gin drinkers…but still.

I stuck it out till midnight…I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it,but a part of me wishes I hadn’t gone…I am a private person and think I lost a part of myself that night.I have never liked giving away too much personal information,partly because I am incredibly boring,and partly because I’ve lied so much in my life I don’t know what’s true about me anymore.

But I digress.

I now see my neighbour in a different light…perhaps not a wholly flattering light,but there you are.

I have seen binge-drinking done properly,by 70-year-old women.

They invented it.They can knock back more gin in one night than a teenager can in a week.Remember the Queen Mother? She was in triple figures and still at it.

Would I go again? Well…you see it wasn’t actually her birthday..that’s not until the 31st July…so another party could be possible.

Would I go?

Hell….I probably bloody will.

Next post:Bagpuss 2-Emily’s Revenge