09:38
Ring Around a Rosé: The Adult Playbook to Fun
09:38IF YOU WEREN'T DRUNK DID YOU REALLY GET CRUNK? Song:Wild Beasts // A Simple Beautiful Truth I like a good drink, and l...
IF YOU WEREN'T DRUNK DID YOU REALLY GET CRUNK?
Song:Wild Beasts // A Simple Beautiful Truth
I like a good drink,
and like most of the British public, I'll be damned if I always diligently abided by the paternal wisdom of the state. The longsuffering suggestions to stick within the confines of 14 units a week for a woman, 21 for a man, are as followed as much as terms and conditions are read. Often regarded with a smug scoff and a complimentary shot. I can bet you that you have little to no clue what 14 units actually represent. I didn't either till I did research for this post. *drum-roll* it's a bottle and a large glass of wine. Which at first glance looks doable, until you realise that's for a week's worth. Yeah, finish that glass of rosé whilst you contemplate the number of times you far exceeded expectations. It's clear that us British like a good ol' drink, but have we always been this way? It seems as though having a pint or two (hundred) is not just heavily integrated within British culture - it's now a matter of intoxicated pride. A sort of nationalistic clink in ode of our dysfunctional, yet polite, repression. It makes me wonder the reason behind why have we earned the illustrious title of Boozy Britain? Our seemingly intimate relationship with alcohol lends itself to even more fascinating discussions surrounding fun, dependency and human connection. Is the colada really a prerequisite to our pleasure, or is there another way we can drain the open bar of kindred spirits...without actual spirits?
ONE SHOT OF RUM-INATION PLEASE?
For the longest time, my only interaction with alcohol was a tepidly drenched pinky colliding with the tip of my tongue. Followed by an "ew, vodka is gross", before swiftly returning to my book at a year 9 house party. I was absolutely THAT kid. The 14-year-old that brought books to parties; the 15-year-old that didn't really know what sex was; the 17-year-old that regurgitated the phrase "I'm ok, thanks" when offered a curious concoction of alcohol. I absolutely did not grasp the seduction of alcohol that beguiled most of those around me. I remember thinking, if you want to drink something that makes you sick and tastes like nail varnish: drink nail varnish.
But silly old me only realised at 19, after my first glass (and subsequent bottle) of wine, the reason why nail varnish wasn't an adequate substitute. Not only does it kill you, at least a lot faster than alcohol does, it also doesn't give you that fuzzy reassuring feeling that the shit coming out of your mouth is, in fact, gold. Alcohol - the indiscriminate cheerleader - is regularly called upon to supply a lubricated kick into human fraternisation. A whole host of university friendships, work friendships and friends-of-friends friendships are espoused by the conjugal act of getting a kebab (and cheesy chips) at the end of an alcohol-fuelled binge. "I do...want burger sauce on that" usually seals the deal. And to be quite frank, I think it does the job quite well.
As a sober observer for most of my teenage years, to the (very) active participant that I am now, I can say with confidence that alcohol is undoubtedly a catalyst to friendships. The crux of why alcohol is so ubiquitous in social gatherings seems to boil down to liquid courage. Liquid courage facilitates a deviation from the normative etiquette we are used to. Thus by breaking the dam of orthodoxy, it allows the flow of candid and digressive behaviours. And we all know how deviancy can be a hoot. Trace your thoughts back to those omg-I'm-going to-pee-myself moments of laughter. More often than not, they occur in contexts where you really shouldn't be laughing - leaving you with tired lungs and a wet patch. The ability to do those naughty things, that you really shouldn’t be doing, without that voice of caution - is really the magic behind knocking back a few.
Moreover, the cherry on top of the sweet glass of Sherry, is the memories gained from drinking. Sober ruminations of the absurd or dramatic adventures of yesternight stands as a common bonding activity for a lot of social groups. Those “oh my god, do you remember when you were pissed you…” insert something utterly ridiculous, are largely why we drink poison from the golden chalice. It allows us to frolic in the silly souvenirs we have collected, as we march back to our desks with drawers brimming with To Do’s. My guess is that, at the core, most of us want to return to that forthright maverick attitude we had as kids. However, our adult selves, who are well indoctrinated in societies Do’s and Don'ts, have placed that fragment of themselves under lock and key. With the key, being in the shape of a Jack Daniels bottle.
Well, that is what I think anyways.
But is this good? and more importantly, what does this say about the state of our society?
Don’t get me wrong, I don't mean to paint an entirely dire picture of adulthood being this tireless scampering for childlike glee through booze. I don’t think that is fair. Sometimes it is just fun to feel dizzy and act stupid. However, I do think that when the alcohol becomes a persistent crutch for hobbling social interactions or the single path towards having fun - a societal dilemma arises. Take England for example; the land of pubs and off-licence booze. It's the talk of the international town that Britain binges, In fact, we’ve gained quite a reputation for it. I believe I’ve figured out why that is whilst on the phone with Chloe, whose choice of alcohol is a sea of Vodka and with a splash of squash - I digress.
We came to the conclusion that, unlike our European flatmates, Britain’s formula for fun is a little wonky. It appears as though for other countries, alcohol only plays a supplementary part in the adult fun. The fun, for them, seems predominately hinged on the social interactions and the activities of the night, but of course drinking adds a vibrancy. Their outlook to fun can be emulated by the phrase always uttered by the only non-drinker - "I don't NEED alcohol to have fun". Whereas for us, it feels as though the fun we obtain from alcohol is mainly the state of being absolutely slaughtered as well as the stories that emanate from that. If fun is equated to the feeling you get right before chundering it makes perfect sense why, in our quest for fun, we take a pit stop to binge in the backstreets.
But the answer as to why we have equated fun with blacking out in a pool of our own vomit... is another enigma.
IS IT TIME TO SPIN THE BOTTLE AWAY?
Look, I'm not writing this as a scathing opinion piece of alcohol. If I did I'd be a hypocrite, a hypocrite with smelly tequila breath most likely holding a kebab. Rather, I want this piece to be a stimulating nudge towards contemplating the legitimate social benefits of alcohol. Whilst keeping in mind the detrimental effects of placing it on a wobbly pedestal as our method of socialisation. I personally advocate setting boundaries for how much and how often you drink. Now, this may not mirror 14 units a week precisely, but it should hopefully be something relatively sensible. Also, let's not judge those who choose not to drink.
Afterall, you're drinking nail varnish.
Stay your lovely selves.
Tea x
ONE SHOT OF RUM-INATION PLEASE?
For the longest time, my only interaction with alcohol was a tepidly drenched pinky colliding with the tip of my tongue. Followed by an "ew, vodka is gross", before swiftly returning to my book at a year 9 house party. I was absolutely THAT kid. The 14-year-old that brought books to parties; the 15-year-old that didn't really know what sex was; the 17-year-old that regurgitated the phrase "I'm ok, thanks" when offered a curious concoction of alcohol. I absolutely did not grasp the seduction of alcohol that beguiled most of those around me. I remember thinking, if you want to drink something that makes you sick and tastes like nail varnish: drink nail varnish.
But silly old me only realised at 19, after my first glass (and subsequent bottle) of wine, the reason why nail varnish wasn't an adequate substitute. Not only does it kill you, at least a lot faster than alcohol does, it also doesn't give you that fuzzy reassuring feeling that the shit coming out of your mouth is, in fact, gold. Alcohol - the indiscriminate cheerleader - is regularly called upon to supply a lubricated kick into human fraternisation. A whole host of university friendships, work friendships and friends-of-friends friendships are espoused by the conjugal act of getting a kebab (and cheesy chips) at the end of an alcohol-fuelled binge. "I do...want burger sauce on that" usually seals the deal. And to be quite frank, I think it does the job quite well.
"Birthday drinks? Its the weekend lets have a drink? Lets pre-drink before we go out for more drinks? After work drinks? Pre-work drink? drinky drinks? drink. drink. drhrinkfh?"
As a sober observer for most of my teenage years, to the (very) active participant that I am now, I can say with confidence that alcohol is undoubtedly a catalyst to friendships. The crux of why alcohol is so ubiquitous in social gatherings seems to boil down to liquid courage. Liquid courage facilitates a deviation from the normative etiquette we are used to. Thus by breaking the dam of orthodoxy, it allows the flow of candid and digressive behaviours. And we all know how deviancy can be a hoot. Trace your thoughts back to those omg-I'm-going to-pee-myself moments of laughter. More often than not, they occur in contexts where you really shouldn't be laughing - leaving you with tired lungs and a wet patch. The ability to do those naughty things, that you really shouldn’t be doing, without that voice of caution - is really the magic behind knocking back a few.
Moreover, the cherry on top of the sweet glass of Sherry, is the memories gained from drinking. Sober ruminations of the absurd or dramatic adventures of yesternight stands as a common bonding activity for a lot of social groups. Those “oh my god, do you remember when you were pissed you…” insert something utterly ridiculous, are largely why we drink poison from the golden chalice. It allows us to frolic in the silly souvenirs we have collected, as we march back to our desks with drawers brimming with To Do’s. My guess is that, at the core, most of us want to return to that forthright maverick attitude we had as kids. However, our adult selves, who are well indoctrinated in societies Do’s and Don'ts, have placed that fragment of themselves under lock and key. With the key, being in the shape of a Jack Daniels bottle.
Well, that is what I think anyways.
But is this good? and more importantly, what does this say about the state of our society?
We came to the conclusion that, unlike our European flatmates, Britain’s formula for fun is a little wonky. It appears as though for other countries, alcohol only plays a supplementary part in the adult fun. The fun, for them, seems predominately hinged on the social interactions and the activities of the night, but of course drinking adds a vibrancy. Their outlook to fun can be emulated by the phrase always uttered by the only non-drinker - "I don't NEED alcohol to have fun". Whereas for us, it feels as though the fun we obtain from alcohol is mainly the state of being absolutely slaughtered as well as the stories that emanate from that. If fun is equated to the feeling you get right before chundering it makes perfect sense why, in our quest for fun, we take a pit stop to binge in the backstreets.
But the answer as to why we have equated fun with blacking out in a pool of our own vomit... is another enigma.
IS IT TIME TO SPIN THE BOTTLE AWAY?
Look, I'm not writing this as a scathing opinion piece of alcohol. If I did I'd be a hypocrite, a hypocrite with smelly tequila breath most likely holding a kebab. Rather, I want this piece to be a stimulating nudge towards contemplating the legitimate social benefits of alcohol. Whilst keeping in mind the detrimental effects of placing it on a wobbly pedestal as our method of socialisation. I personally advocate setting boundaries for how much and how often you drink. Now, this may not mirror 14 units a week precisely, but it should hopefully be something relatively sensible. Also, let's not judge those who choose not to drink.
Afterall, you're drinking nail varnish.
Stay your lovely selves.
Tea x
