and another thing
Whilst I’m on the subject of the demon-drink, last night I didn’t get into a post-kebab punch-up. I didn’t throw-up and pass-out on the pavements of Sunningdale. I didn’t abuse anyone and I didn’t end-up in either A&E or a police cell. But I did have a drink: a cheeky beer after a hard-fought game of squash and a (large) glass of lovely Lugana with a tangy Puttanesca pasta.
However, it’s not without a tinge of guilt that I read of the latest NHS study on middle-class binge drinking and the impact this is potentially having on my health. So, whilst I had a fantastic time of it, the study delicately pointed out that the ‘older’ drinkers – educated, healthy, active and highly sociable are tottering our way to ill-health. The trouble is 20 units just aren’t enough: six or seven beers or a couple of bottles of wine will keep me more than happy for three or four days, but what then for the rest of the week!
I don’t get drunk. I rarely suffer hangovers. I certainly don’t use my fair-share of NHS resources even though I drink probably five or six nights out of seven, and I feel fine & dandy. But the science says I’m massively increasing my risk of stroke, liver disease and most cancers, and I suspect the science doesn’t lie. The bad news is I may indeed be beyond help. Minimum unit pricing isn’t going to impact my imbibing as I don’t think twice as I put my hand-in-my-pocket for another three-pound beer, and any wine under a fiver is a virtual BOGOF offer. Education ain’t going to cut it as I’ve read all the reports and still enjoy a lovely, refreshing, hoppy beer beverage. Furthermore, the only social pressure I feel from my peer group is to put a sock in it, stop worrying about the future, and isn’t it my round? Again. It looks as if I’ve made my choice but the issue is perhaps I won’t know how that choice will work out, until it’s too late.
