I came to a realisation this weekend. It surprised me somewhat but I don’t really like alcohol any more. Maybe it’s because I’ve not been able to drink for so long thanks to pregnancy and breastfeeding but even then I didn’t miss it. Or maybe it’s because we don’t go out very often any more and the only opportunities to drink are at home. And I’ve never liked that. Regardless of where I lived and with whom, but especially when I lived with my parents. It’s not cool to be drunk in front of your parents. Or your friends’ parents. That’s even less cool.
Sadly, I think I’ve been drunk in front of plenty of people’s parents in my time and I can only remember making a twat of myself, convincing myself I sounded completely sober while doubtless slurring my words and reeking of booze. Always a good look. In fact, now I come to think of it, my new anti-alcohol status largely stems from the sheer weight of times I’ve made a complete tit of myself in a public place in front of people I do and don’t know. Apart from at my wedding (where I’m sure I made a tit of myself with all that beer, champagne, snakebite and tequila swilling about in my system) the last time I really properly went out I fell asleep in the toilets of Tiger Tiger. For about an hour. Adam was beside himself, he thought I’d buggered off. No, I had just passed out, and that’s the first (and last) time that’s ever happened. At least I think it is. Of course I looked a complete tit. And before I’d passed out in the toilets I’d looked a tit because I was trying to dance to cheesy music, very unsteadily.
We had a party for Miss Woolley’s birthday a couple of weeks ago. We played Rock Band. The only way I have the guts to sing publicly is if I’ve been drinking. Except when I’ve been drinking my singing sounds awful. We made margaritas and I sang a bit, very quietly before anyone was really around to hear me and before they realised there was a video camera on the premises. Phew. But although I didn’t make too much of a tit of myself (at least that I can remember) I still woke up the next day with the overwhelming feeling that I had. And I had a stonking hangover.
I know plenty of people for whom excessive social drinking is a way of life, it’s not a good night if there isn’t a picture of them passed out on the floor or at a table or riding something in a children’s playground. For me, I left that kind of drinking behind when I stopped being a teenager, back in the days when I drank only to get drunk. And now I don’t even like the feeling of being drunk, not at the time and most definitely not the day after. I must be getting old. I don’t like drinking wine with dinner either, I’d much rather have a glass of coke. No wine connoisseur, me.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to become a tee-totaller who looks disapprovingly at anyone else who exercises their right to an alcoholic beverage when the mood takes them. I even still fancy the odd cold tasty beer or glass of pinot noir, it’s just that I can’t normally stomach more than one. When I was in prison, I really missed drinking. When I came out of prison Adam and I went out drinking all the time and we had a lovely time and no hangovers. But normal life has now resumed, and with a small child in the house I’m far less inclined to go out or drink. So I’ll stick to the occasional tasty beer and keep stuffing my face with pies instead. I mean do lots of exercise!