Tea Total - Retired P***head - memories

Me with the pint in hand

To my crying shame I think I am just about tea total and I don’t even like tea… I feel ashamed. It somewhat crept up on me to the point I don’t care if I have a drink or not. My sudden realisation of my predicament came last night when I decided I didn’t want one of my remaining bottles of Heineken but plumbed for an orange squash.

Friends who remember me from my late teens and mid-twenties would find it hard to believe has I am unashamed to say I was a piss head and a happy drunk when partying. I will admit I enjoyed myself they were fun nights’ out those that I could remember and of those I couldn’t would be re-laid to me in the next day debrief, always interesting.

I was trying to remember the last time I was truly pissed and it was ruddy hard I end up having to tap the wife’s’ memory. We soon between us kind of pin pointed the last hoorah of Peter Ugarte the piss head was 1988, yes that long ago in-between babies number two and three we concluded. I may not remember much about the night but I remember the walk home.

Like most gatherings’ of the ‘Motley Crew’ those happy days after plenty of libations its Chippy Lane and a visit to Dorothy’s for something to eat. After goodbyes at the bus station along with wifey and matey Andrew we walked home and I soon found myself walking down the middle of the road with shouts of I was hungry heading for a Chinese takeaway looking for a pie. It was typical for me back then I had a thing about the middle of the road when I was out with the wife.

It is not that I have stopped drinking that night. My life style and priorities at changed and I was happier being in control with my drinking. I was a father with three kids, which just don’t go with the drinking culture, and there was the money that was needed to go in other directions. Do I miss it? I miss the company and the laughs but maybe not the drinking I miss visiting Dorothy’s more.

I have mentioned on social media recently that I still had eight bottles of lager left over from Christmas where but for one drink was pretty dry occasion. so when Number three son ransacked my stockpile, I didn’t care. I consider myself a semiretired social drinker.