Have A Drink On Me

I WAS shocked to learn that the middle-classes are at risk from alcohol abuse. Although I was born most definitely working class, I suppose I have, through my work, become middle-class so I fear they are talking to me.

(Yes, sweetheart, another glass of shiraz would be lovely).

It’s a ridiculous notion. Drink too much? Me?

(Don’t throw away that Irish coffee, I haven’t licked out the glass yet!)

I’m not even too sure how many “units” the Government is recommending. I’m presuming a “unit” is a bottle of spirits so I’m well within my limits. Obviously I’m not counting liqueurs (too sweet to be really alcoholic) or sherry in the trifle or red wine in the casserole, or pernod with the fish or any alcoholic beverage consumed while standing up. So you see, I hardly drink at all.

(It’s time we finished off that bottle of malt whisky or it might go off.)

Nope. When it comes to alcohol, I’m a responsible person and moderation ish my middle name.

Drunks are people who fall over in gutters. Yes, I know I broke a heel on my best shoes when I stumbled off the pavement onto a grating but I’ve never ended up staring at the stars from a gutter. Well, apart from that night in ….. best not go down that road.

(Who’s a pretty pushy cat? I mean pussy cat.. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Yes, you are…..)

Drunks can never remember the next morning what happened the night before. Look, I remember only too well being witty, sparkling and the life and soul of the party before I ended up getting locked in the loo – where, incidentally, all my friends left me for a good two hours. I don’t know how that chair got wedged against the door so I couldn’t get out. Freak accident, I guess.

(Liqueur, yesh please. There seem to be lots of bottles with just half an inch left. May as well chuck them all in together.)

Sooooooooooo, where was I? Drink. Yes. No. I don’t have a drinking problem …… I’ve got plenty. Ha, ha, ha.

(For goodness sake sit down, sweetheart, you’re making me feel dizzy spinning about like that in front of me. What do you mean, you ARE sitting down?)

Time to go. I suffer from mild vertigo and it’s back with a vengence, no I mean venjence, or is it venjince? Vengeance, that's it. Anyway, it's back. Where did I put my shoes?

(Yes, I know it’s bedtime. No, I don’t need any help. Oops. Who put that door there? What do you mean, I'm not funny. I AM funny. I'm hil-bloody-larious. I think I'll just lie down on the bed. No need to get undressed. Just order me a complete blood transfusion for the morning, please.)

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