cookie’s random jottings
cookie’s random jottings
Driving around in the run up to Christmas I passed quite a few police drink-driving road blocks and was surprised at the amount of manpower these things demand. It seems to me that as a society we’re finding drink-driving more and more socially unacceptable, with motorway matrix signs set to tell us not to drink and drive when they’re not giving traffic information. Maybe it’s a good thing; I’ve just looked at some figures for drink-related road deaths and injuries and frankly it’s scary.
Now don’t think this piece is merely the rantings of a 20 year tee-totaller with a high annual mileage. I had my fair share of problems with booze when I was a young man, but I always held the view that ironically it’s the guy who leaves his car at home to go out drinking who gets killed by the guy who doesn’t.
I had an interesting conversation with someone recently who told me that while driving home on new year’s eve they had to swerve more than once to avoid drunks who were falling into the road. They perceptively pointed out that had they hit one of them having had even ‘the smallest of sherries before dinner’, they’d have spent the rest of their life wondering if they’d have missed them without the drink.
That alcohol is a drug that is naturally occurring, legal, and above all else socially acceptable means that it is an inextricable part of Western culture, not to mention a huge revenue generator for the government. Take a look through the pictures on this site (see above), or indeed any family album if you don’t believe me. I often wonder how we would react if the phrase ‘...incapable through drink or drugs’ was to become just ’... incapable through drugs’. How would we react if, instead of wine glasses in family album photos, people were holding syringes? I’m not anti-alcohol at all, but I do think that Joe Public should accept it as a drug and treat it with the respect it deserves.
I used to teach in an institution where one of my colleagues (a brilliant woman) had a drink problem. She always had an ‘orange juice’ in her hand, and smelt in the mornings like she’d had vodka on her cornflakes. The powers that be turned a blind eye and I always used to wonder if their attitude would have been different had she been snorting cocaine off her desk. I’ve no doubt that if she had, they’d either have sacked her or offered her help.
On a lighter note, I’ve always been fascinated by the way drink affects people in different ways. I was a quiet, happy drunk and, fortunately for me and those around me, it was oftentimes only the inane grin on my face that belied my state of inebriation. Interesting also how different drinks affect people differently, after all it’s presumably just the alcohol that ‘does the damage’. I’m always most amazed by people who, on drinking their ‘trigger pint’ want to do one-eared elephant impressions, or take on the world.
On an even lighter note, I’ve often proposed that drinking should be a licenced activity in much the same way as driving is. This would of course mean people being issued initially with a provisional drinking licence, which would enable them to drink only when accompanied by an experienced drinker. After a few months gaining experience they would take their drinking test, where in the presence of a drinking examiner they would have to meet a required level of drinking without behaving like an asshole.
And finally ... here to finish are a couple of true stories that have found their way into musician folklore. I’ve kept identities and locations secret to protect the guilty...
A Scottish tenor player of no mean ilk was driving home one night a little the worse for wear, and in his befuddled state managed to pull up on the end of a taxi rank. It wasn’t long before an ordinary saloon car parked in a line of London black cabs alerted the attention of a policeman.
He knocked on the driver’s window, and as it descended asked, “What’s going on sir?”. The muso replied, “I don’t know. I think these traffic lights may be out, I’ve been stuck here for ages”. Well, the copper had no option but to haul him out of the car and give him a breath test.
Needless to say he failed the test miserably, but being a muso and seeing the funny side of hopeless situations, he explained in his defence, “You see officer, I’ve been to a cheese and wine evening, and they ran out of cheese...”
A trombone player had spent the afternoon doing a recording session at the BBC studios at Maida Vale (where, incidentally, Bing Crosby made his last ever recording). He had made his way from there to a famous old London jazz club to take in some music before going home. As he’d arrived very early at the club he decided to leave early too, but not before he’d consumed 8 white wine spritzers.
On driving down St Martin’s Lane he was stopped by some kind of drink-driving spot-check. He told the policeman that he’d been in the recording studio and had had one drink on the way home. (If he were Pinnochio he’d have taken the copper’s eye out!) The policeman directed him to a WPC with the breath testing equipment. “Oh well, I suppose I’ve had this coming” he thought as he took the test.
After what seemed like an eternity the WPC said “I’m pleased to tell you you’ve passed. You’re free to go”. This whole episode had such a sobering effect on the muso he didn’t fancy going home any more; so he went back to the club and complained!
Drinking and Driving
Saturday, 12 January 2008