So, its been a month... No drink, not a sip. Nothing, nada. Wow Deco, your amazing and you're such a role model for the kids. Yeah yeah SHUT UP. I have spent my last 4 weekends living the exact same lifestyle; visiting the local-pub religiously only now everyone is watching me like a hawk to see if Im going to take a drink. Had I known people were going to walk up to me, snatch my glass of lemonade out of my hand just so they can sniff it to ensure there is no dilution of vodka; I probably wouldnt have publicised my objective. Why smell it anyway?; Ive been drinking for as long as the culture in Ireland has allowed me; I took my first drink at my cousins wedding (an orange bacardi breezer; wow, what a man) when I was 18 and have been a social drinker ever since; thats what? - a good 5, nearly 6 years of solid weekend-in, weekend-out of sheer lunacy. However im pretty sure I wouldnt be able to discern if there was alcohol present by merely smelling the lemonade for a split second as if im some kind of ambitious K9 bidding for a job in the local Garda narcotics department. Surely enough however, among the minority of wonderful people that may read this, there is going to be one cheeky little pisspot who is going to make a point of inhaling my drink through his nostrils solely as a nod to this rant; Trust me, if thats you then be sure to bring a spare pair of clothes, a hand towel and the local dentist. Another thing I keep hearing is; "Im so proud of you"...... WHAT? Im sorry, did I say I was a recovering alcoholic? Going to a place 'where everybody knows your name' is now like visiting an old folks home where im one big unappreciated, overpatronised punchline. The bar men seem genuinely hestitant to serve me when I ask for a 'dash of white'; Im hardly going to pay 3euro for a glass of 7up when I could pay 80cents for a cheaper rip off that tastes exactly the same. But I can see the venom in their eyes and I can feel that one of them is about to tell me to stick my dash up my attention seeking swiss because the purpose of a dash is to mix with a spirit, not for some boring gobshite who appears to be sponging off the pub. Im still paying for it arent I? All of this is surely bound to drive me to drink before I feel the urge to rip out my liver and pour pucheen all over it before I re-insert it back into my body for maximum alcohol poisoning. Not to mention that nobody has any faith in my random decision not to drink during the oncoming barrage of social events such as; the importance of Irish soccer approaching the world cup qualifiers; a 'session weekend' in Slovakia that I was initially going to break my chastity for, but have now decided not to go at all in lieu of the sanctity of my self promise; not to mention the customary piss-up at Hallo'ween - all things that require compulsary consumption of booze. Is my word not enough that my friends keep trying to include me in rounds that comprise solely of Alcolor? As I was saying, I have continued living the exact same lifestyle only without drink. I still go dancing (which by the way has drastically improved with the razor sharpness of my sobriety), I still sit in the pub with the lads only I drink water or lemonadra and I have the luxery of driving home safely in my Bev. 'Bev' is the name of my car by the way. But do I feel any different? Well if I didnt spend many of my midweek nights staying up so late to write this then I guess my energy levels would be higher and I wouldnt still be waking up at 1pm on the weekends. But have I been in a position yet where I have felt like I genuinely wanted a drink? Well of course; The night was busy, the bussling world frantically cascaded passed, to and fro massaging my personal space. There was no where to hide and no stretch long enough to run. I could feel the swelling within me as I yearned to become one of Alcolors footsoldiers. What was this feeling? Why was I waning under what appeared to be nothing? Alcolor had already taken most people in the pub - they had all joined him and seemed so happy about it. Did I feel out of place? - I didnt think so. I feel a soft push in the back and a silent hissing whisper in my ear; "Go on, you know you want it, look at everyone around you; they are free and in a place that you know you want to go to".I turn slowly and I am stilted and rigid with the horror of what I see. Alcolor is clearly more powerful than I expected. There, standing in front of me was the latest addition to his minions; Piers Presuur - A ruthless ex-Garda interrogator who was kicked out of the force when his colleagues discovered he was accepting bribes from dozens of establishments to allow them to distribute Alcolor after their designated closing times. The most hardened of Alcolors fans would call this time; 'A lock in'. Busted at a 'lock in' in his own home town, Piers had nowhere to go when his evil ploy was uncovered and so, he moved into the inner city where he became known to the underworld as 'the puncher'; as many high class citizens would hire him as an 'extraction' expert; using extreme methods, he knew exactly what buttons to push on a person in order to tip them over the edge and get the result he required; whether it was information or simply getting them to do what he wanted, he very rarely failed. Now, I stared him blankly in the face - it was clear by his presence that Alcolor had sent him and that my cards were now marked. I was hoping to pass on through the 3 months unnoticed but alas, I have been found out. Piers raised his hand, in it an ice cold pint of Heineken; everything turned to white and I momentarily felt like I was about to feel like the rest of them here; free. It was Glorious. BUT SUDDENLY I BEGAN TO THINK OF HANS AND WHAT HE HAD DONE TO MY BEST FRIEND JIMMY ; Awh Jimmy... I missed him tonight as he was not able to move today following the beating Hans gave him this morning. With that, a lone warrior axe kicks the pint from Piers' hand. He grabs Piers by the throat and delivers a blistering elbow to the face sending him crashing backward into the high rise stools at the bar. The Lone warrior turns to me; " The names Sense, Common Sense - Sobe Oar sent me; He wants to see you at the end of the night". Piers regains his composure and violently spears Common to the ground - what ensuea is an aerial display of acrobatic martial arts like nothing I have ever seen! Piers would be winning one minute and Common the next; nobody could tell the outcome. Piers now had Common pinned and was hitting him with an unrelenting hail of punches to the face. It looked like the fight had been won and a new pint of Heineken was already in the process of being pulled; everything slow motioned itself as Common took beating after beating; but something told him not to give in, never to surrender and with one final act of strength; he overpowers Piers, twisting him into an arm-bar - trapping his elbow joint and forcing it against its natural movement - sending Piers into an agonising submission. The Heineken now remains on the bar and I parry the glass to one side offering it to the customer behind me; "Can I have a dash of white lemonade please" - now content that I would finally meet the legendary 'Sobe Oar' before the end of the night... But the night, is still young...
Bottomline 14; If you dont want to, then dont.
Next post: 'What happened last night?'
Slan mo Chara,
Deco
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