Wine is a Mocker

An Early Acquaintance

My story with drink is long and interesting, yet these days I do not have a ready palate for alcohol.

My first taste of alcohol came with palm wine. My paternal grandfather had palm trees; though I do not think he was ever a palm wine tapper, he had the kind of demeanour that suggests he might have clambered up a tree at some point in his youth.

Traditional alcohol was offered to children, but bottled alcohol was completely forbidden.

At ten, away from my parents, I did drink Tennent's Light, a low-percentage lager in a can. None of the adults frowned on my consumption, and I always drank in moderation; there was never a second one, even when offered.

Lessons from the Brewery

My first job, at fifteen, was in a brewery, where I worked in the laboratory; I doubt I would have been allowed that opportunity outside Nigeria. My days were spent testing water quality, peering at dead yeast cells drawn from the fermentation tanks, and running quality-control checks at the end of the production line. There was enough in all of that to put me off lager, and consequently beer, ale, and cider.

Strong drink was an acquired taste that I eschewed rather than developed.

Yet in my family we have no history of the abuse of drink or drunkenness; everyone held their drink with dignity, and it would appear that more of the generations close to mine are teetotallers.

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A Discipline of My Own

In social settings, I drink wine, preferably with meals, and never alone. It is a standard and a discipline I have set for myself, and I find the loss of self-control brought on by drink you have chosen to consume, rather than been forced to ingest, literally contemptible. Even the wine I enjoy is rarely more than a single glass, and I doubt I drink more than once in two months.

Once I had a sherry, from a bottle the barman probably had to prise out from a mooring of cobwebs spun by spiders long deceased, kept well out of sight, and then a glass of port, which does go well with Stilton cheese. I was soon sick all over the place, at home.

At any sense of feeling tipsy, I never wait for my legs to give way beneath me; one instance of apparent inebriation was a lesson for a lifetime. I also refuse to lend my tongue to the looseness that alcohol affords, as some people, who are no longer friends, once did to break the friendship.

Carried in the Blood

I do, however, appreciate that people have a drink problem for all sorts of reasons, including a congenital predisposition, for which there might be a need for intervention if a person has lost the levers of moderation.

There are those for whom the pull towards drink is not merely habit but something carried in the blood. A grandparent or great-grandparent who could not master it may leave a predisposition that surfaces generations later, and I would not dismiss that as fancy; the science of inheritance is real enough.

Yet a predisposition is a tendency, not a sentence. It explains the steepness of the hill; it does not excuse refusing to climb. Indeed, the one who knows such a weakness runs in the family has all the more reason to be watchful, for he has been warned by his own lineage.

Recognising a Problem

Even so, that warning is of little use to the person who will not hear it, and denial remains the first obstacle. I know people who will not admit they have a drink problem. You definitely have one if you soon lapse into incoherence and find that the marshalling of your faculties has deserted you.

In some cases, it is borderline; and when at the border, we cannot assume it has not already been crossed.

Whether there are excuses that stand the test of reason is debatable, but steeling yourself for any endeavour should not be achieved through Dutch courage, for it is a prop that would soon collapse under the pressure of application.

Wisdom from Proverbs

While my greater abstemiousness from alcohol is not religious, you only have to visit the Book of Proverbs to read the many admonitions regarding alcohol.

Proverbs 31:4-7

4 It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor for princes strong drink:
5 Lest they drink, and forget the law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.
6 Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts.
7 Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.

And yes, there are places where wine is the bringer of joy and festivity, as in the ritual use of wine in religious service; but in each case, one would expect controlled and measured use.

Elsewhere, in Proverbs 20:1

1 Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

These verses all suggest that the abuse of alcohol leads to unfortunate consequences. The refuge of drink opens the door to foolishness, destruction, and forgetfulness of the essence of living; there is nothing productive in it.

A Final Word

Before I come across as preachy, I am not advocating a temperance movement or a form of prohibition, but moderation that can still be moderated. For those who drink to excess, you leave those close to you, who do not partake as much, all the more worried that you have already taken a few too many.

And if, on reading this, you recognise yourself in these words, do not take it as an accusation but as a hand held out. If this is you, there is no shame in the recognition; there is only the next, better step.

Most importantly, seek help, because there is a great deal of help out there. Wherever you are, a first step is often as near as your own doctor. Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon operate in most countries, and many nations run free, confidential helplines; a local search, or a word with a trusted clinician, will point you to what exists near you.

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) – Wikipedia

Alcoholics Anonymous ZA/ZW

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Thought Picnic: On therapy and rehab for giving new purpose to life

Therapy for life and living

I learnt over a decade ago that everyone at one point or the other requires some form of therapy. In my case, after a near-death experience brought on by disease with the aftermath of extremely fortunate survival but ensuing catastrophic material loss, I needed to talk to somebody about how life was.

I was not depressed or suicidal at all, but looking at how things had turned out, it was only right that I did have the quietude to ruminate over loss and drown in the sorrow of misfortune and despair wondering about what turns could have been taken to arrive at a different destination in the story of life.

Therapy that causes change

Then again, over two decades ago, I did on the advice of a friend engage the counsel of an occupational psychotherapist. We met in the lobby of a hotel in the West End at a point when my professional life seemed to be at an impasse. I seemed to be totally clueless about what to do and was existing from day to day, just existing without any apparent sense of purpose.

In our discussion, he first put things in perspective, opining that what I was experiencing was not unfamiliar and me getting interviews but not closing on the jobs was considerably better than the many that were never contacted at all. He went on to say something quite profound, that I was suffering a mid-life crisis probably 10 years early.

His advice was that I do something radical like change my career or change my location or country for a different and new place. That is what began my quest for engagement in Europe where I interviewed for a job at Compaq, near Munich in Germany and flew out on a day off to be interviewed for a job in the Netherlands at Hoofddorp near Amsterdam Schiphol Airport. I got the job in the Netherlands and there began an over 12-year sojourn in the Netherlands.

Therapy for all seasons

One underlying issue during that time that had the effect that I did not as much admit to and going on with impact for more than a year was, I had just come out of an almost 7-year relationship which for me was quite devastating, the pain of it endured for longer than I wanted to assume vulnerability for. I probably should have considered therapy for it beyond taking a week off work and wandering around Europe in search of some distraction of consequence for almost a month.

The consequent therapy sessions I had relatively helped me understand to a degree, what I might be going through even as the professionals suggested to me that they learnt more from our interactions in terms of the human experience than they let on during the sessions. I was unusual as I did not present the classic signs of their usual quarry and I was lucidly articulate, understanding nuance, discerning meanings from usages and constructs that helped in appreciating the depth of my concerns.

Recently, I was again advised to seek some professional help, and I do clearly appreciate the need for such because many of the historical experiences I have had before are presenting in somewhat different circumstances, but equally as impactful as to be issues of concern for my wellbeing mentally and in life generally.

Therapy in the guise of rehab

Beyond that, in my last blog, I alluded to the desire to be received into everlasting habitations, a place beyond the failings and the fallings in life where the impact of loss and incapacity is reduced or confined to the improbable because the attendant issues are addressed by providence or benefaction.

Blog - O to be received into everlasting habitations

In that sense, it would seem just as everyone needs therapy at some point to review the vicissitudes of life, people might also need rehab, yes, rehabilitation. This rehab does not necessarily have to do with the typical addictions such as drugs, sex, gambling, alcohol, or some other dependency. However, the result is the same, a place for intervention, review, contemplation, and redirection to get life back on track again.

It makes you wonder if there is a real-life Fantasy Island like the drama series that featured  Hervé Villechaize as Tattoo, running to the airfield shouting, “The plane, the plane”, and  Ricardo Montalbán as the mysterious Mr Roarke who granted fantasies for a price. Whether or not such a place exists and that is besides the cost, people do need a kind of reprieve, an absenting of self of situation or circumstance to reassess and think about what new experience one needs to bring to one’s existence to have a more fulfilling and rewarding life. Something that could seem difficult to do when caught in the midst of a quagmire of fates and things.

These thoughts roam in the recesses of the subconscious as one seeks to make days count for better than they seem. Then, Mr Warren Buffett who if he were British might have been regaled with every aristocratic title you could find in the gift of the monarch, goes on to say, in the pithy and interesting summary of how to live. On living your best life: “You should write your obituary and then try to figure out how to live up to it,” Buffett said. “It’s not that complicated.”

Well…

Thought Picnic: Try to make me go to rehab

Preoccupied with levity

Many days have passed that I would have loved to commemorate, as I pay almost too much significance to the passage of time.

Yet with the passing of time comes experience and more of a story to tell of a life lived within the widest spectrum of emotion from sadness to joy, from ignorance to knowledge and from stupidity to wisdom.

Preoccupied as I have been with things that I would not, yet addiction has its hold driving one as if possessed towards destruction, careering down a precipice just in a path of an avalanche and volcanic pyroclastic flow coming inescapably from behind.

Then a dawning and a realisation begins to take shape in the mind bringing one to a place where there is probably help and succour and hope.

Distracted to attraction

We struggle as the relentless hold of these things, fleeting in moments, pleasure soon dissipated, the pursuit of happiness turning into a race towards perdition, breaking free into suffocating guilt and unease for a while as the oscillation comes around to take you back to that wretched-richly place of bloom and gloom.

Is this why people go to rehab? To find cures for their ills? Having their activities patterned for distraction finding new hobbies for old habits, fighting inside and outside the battles of human frailty with the hope that the victory will be the defeat of the past?

It is unlikely much will be achieved with the dogged determination of self-help and asceticism, regimen is hardly the lot one has chosen for a standard, but we are at the beginning of something and surely, it should not be the death of me. I've done therapy, maybe it's time for rehab or at the very least, an intervention - now, I would really hate that.

Thought Picnic: Rehab needed for life

The tough road

I am beginning to think we need a new kind of rehab, the rehabilitation of self in such a way that you able to tread the path of reinventing yourself without too much difficulty.

One thing I have realised about myself is the radical way cancer changed me in terms of health, wealth, outlook, prospect and I dare say, self-confidence.

One cannot begin to list the many things one has lost by reason of the onset of illness and having battled and won over illness how the road back to life, living and earning a living has been fraught with difficulty, uncertainty, doubt and a sense of timidity.

This is not the man that was some 4 years ago when ability and projection were at their peak with purposefulness and determination.

Re-something

I cannot allow myself to believe I have run out of ideas but the ideas I seem to have are not working the way they used to and that means I need new ideas, some help, probably a place to meditate and a new perspective to life and livelihood.

Some 12 years ago, I got some interesting help when an occupational psychotherapist suggested I was suffering a mid-life crisis 10 years early. It appears I have now reached mid-life and the crisis has been compounded by adversity.

Surely, there must be some sort of service that deals with this issue before one becomes listless, aimless, clueless, careless, powerless and tired.

I have never been one to throw in the towel, I have continued to do what I know best, albeit not with as much fervour, I have been weakened and sapped but I am not exhausted and will not expire, if I died fighting, I will hope whatever memory is left of me includes the conclusion, he did what he knew best – God rest his soul.

Gaol Couture by Paris

One gets driven

Aspects of my upbringing except me from driving such that if opportunity does come to own a car, it would most likely be one that comes standard with a chauffeur, choices are few and that costs a lot of money.

Thankfully, one has had no need to play a lottery of one of three pedals and shift the gears such that the car remains stationary at an intersection before lurching forward into the grand dame's car in front; one is satisfied with the mix of metro, tram, train, taxi and air travel services around Europe.

As it stands, I cannot be caught for driving under the influence and I have never been done for any traffic infringement - even in Amsterdam, when on my bicycle I stop at the lights and always have lights on from dusk.

The drunken roads to prison

Roads are a very public place - moot point - there is a civic responsibility incumbent on being a road user, soberness, alertness, consideration and patience but many seem to get away with the mindless use of a mobile phone whiles in traffic having had a drink or two with utter disregard for the safety of both themselves and others - if caught, such people should have visited upon them, the full weight of the law.

In some lands, the penalties include license endorsements/suspension, hefty fines or imprisonment, some culprits attract all that as we read of a hotel heiress who having been caught drunk in charge of a vehicle and put on probation with a license suspension then was done for speeding and driving at speed with her lights off.

You must walk this way

It is now the accepted rite of passage for rich young people to find happiness in a pill downed with copious amounts of alcohol as their lascivious existence becomes the livelihood of the paparazzi and scoop chasers some of whom they engaged to rise to fame in the hedonistic rags called glossy celebrity magazines.

A fast car, a few expensive drugs and the immediacy of sex almost always involves rehab, a brush with the law, a day or two in court and the fashionable sojourn at the pleasure of the government of the day, somehow, daddy can no more pay the price of keeping the whole sorry tale out of the public domain anymore.

New careers for others

Upon that, you find the feeders, public prosecutors in the guise of doing their job, redoubling efforts to ensure that the privileged do not escape the letter of the law or dare I say, the opportunity to embellish the résumé with - "I put a rich kid in jail" with the flurry and the gamut of press interest and photo opportunities that would enhance the career of any ambulance chaser.

City Attorney Rocky Delgadillo said Hilton is being treated the same as anyone else, indeed, your village rag might just summon the front-page headline - Rocky ride for Paris, they might even improve on it; our boy has done well. This is just speculation, Rocky is beyond reproach, he is only doing his job.

Is this news?

My news spectrum has been invaded with news of a rich nonentity going to jail for flouting her probation, it happens everyday, so why is this taking over the headlines?

Paris Hilton would be making an appearance at the Los Angeles Country jail where she would be rehabilitated for 45 days, paying her dues to community in protected custody for her safety - read solitary confinement - reserved for special cases.

Crime does pay

Contrast this with the other celebrity who had to do 5 days community service with the sanitary department in New York - Naomi Campbell - she made her appearances a stunning fashion show by clothes-horsing over £236,000 of couture, it was a mockery of the whole crime and punishment model (excuse the pun).

Naomi Campbell on Day 1 to Day 4 appearing for community service.

© The New York Times - Peter Foley/European Pressphoto Agency (Monday); Bryan Gedder/Getty Images (Tuesday and Wednesday); Lucas Jackson/Reuters

You only have to view this on the Crime Does Pay slideshow in the Telegraph. Ms Hilton might not be afforded a Dolce & Gabbana couture evening gown worth about £50,000 as part of her prison wear but she can at the end of her visit put her hand to a new venture - Gaol Couture by Paris - it would be a sure hit, youth fashion today is no better than what you will find worn in prison, anyhow.

Naomi Campbell on Day 5

© Reuters - The Daily Telegraph