Thought Picnic: Rest, Sobriety, and Social Sacrifice

Treasuring Rest and Sobriety

There are two things I treasure: the opportunity for rest and keeping my sobriety. I get my sleep whenever I can, except when it is interrupted by obligation or responsibility—work or other necessities.

This means that even when I do not get sufficient rest during the week, which is usually the case due to what is essentially nighttime insomnia, I make up for the shortfall at the weekend. I will have a good lie-in on Saturday, not getting out of bed for most of the morning if I can help it, and sometimes I do give my Sunday to rest over religious commitment.

It is strange that some who are aware of these irregular sleeping patterns still seem totally oblivious to this knowledge in some self-serving way. I suppose that is to be expected.

A Teetotaller With Exceptions

On sobriety, I would consider myself generally a teetotaller, though not to the point of total abstinence. I do like wine. My work experience in a brewery laboratory at the age of 15 quite literally put me off beer, lager, cider, and ale.

It is not for religious belief that I rarely consume alcohol; rather, I have seen how drink loosens the tongue, prompting people to speak more candidly. These are thoughts they once had the wherewithal to keep unspoken. Moments of indiscretion or regrettable garrulousness accommodate the emptying of the bottle into the belly.

One core principle I keep more than ever is never to drink alone and mostly to drink only with meals. This makes drinking a social activity and forestalls the advent of hangovers. I probably drink with the utmost moderation; my experiences with light-headedness have come from prescribed medication rather than from losing control, paying homage to Bacchus.

The Darker Side of Drink

Walking up through the Gay Village near where I live, many a doorway is fouled by vomit. At night, you behold the sight of people barely able to stand on their own two feet, so inebriated to the point of incapacity.

The whole thing is quite scary to me: the thought that a portion of your sensibilities is lost to a void of nothingness, your memory failing to recall any recent event.

Then imagine a sober man keeping the fully drunk company, subjected to the inanities that make you question your own sanity. As much as it is part of socialising and being a social animal, you do you; I do me. Some sacrifices are necessary to make the world go round.

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Essential Snobbery 101: Playing truant at The Scrooge School of Corporate Christmas

The Spectre of Christmas Parties

Christmas parties are a genre I would rather not be part of, having attended two such events in the 1990s. Both were experiences I would prefer to forget, with recollections close to reliving a nightmare. Part of me would say I would never have been found in the company of those I was with, but for the circumstances enabling it.

In the first instance, we attended a tavern close to Tower Hill. It was themed as a medieval banquet, complete with all the excesses of drink and meat, along with the bawdiness that chose to disrespect the waitresses as part of the entertainment. My verdict: never again.

A Sobering Experience

Then, in a swanky hotel in the West End, when I moved to another company, the alcohol flowed freely. I had the unfortunate situation of being the only sober man, apart from the drivers, for probably ten miles.

I learnt a great deal from my colleagues that evening. The setting, I later discovered, served as the consummation of an illicit affair between married people. It was full-blown adultery, and I knew nothing about it at the time.

My manager, full of drink and many words, took to whispering in my ear about how much he liked me, the work I did, and many other things that would have left me more red-faced than a ripe beetroot. I kept what he said close to my chest. At least I knew I enjoyed a lot of favour and liking from my boss; for a contractor, it also meant someone was fighting your corner.

The Art of Absence

From then on, I mostly absented myself from such gatherings. I couldn't make it, I was on holiday, or I found an occupation that could pass for an excuse.

Three such parties came on my calendar this year. The first was an invitation to participants on a project we finally got over the line last month. They all came from the provinces into Manchester and totally went to town. After dinner, I was ready to go home whilst they were off to a pub and much else.

One of them was inviting others to a party at 4:30 AM. Even as a night-time insomniac, that was well past my bedtime. I was home just after 11:00 PM to take my medication and snuggle up in bed, not knowing that the paracetamol I needed to relieve a headache was bedside too.

Corporate Miserliness

The other, arranged by our management, was a thesis to the Ebenezer Scrooge School of Economics. We were required to bring items in to share when such a season of goodwill, where much was demanded of us outside our remit, should have elected for a spirit of generosity on the corporate AmEx card. I did not attend; I was on leave.

However, this year at work, and I enjoy what I do, has exposed me to characterisations of management that led me to freelancing for almost 30 years. The way the use of authority and status can gradually turn you into a misanthrope, as a product of both being patronised and dehumanised at the same time. It is probably a management technique.

A Genuine Gathering

Then, I have just returned from the restaurant where, as a volunteer to a Black men's support group, I was invited by the convenor to thank us for the support we give to the group. It was just five of us, but it was a very pleasant evening: no alcohol, sober talk, and more communal support for each other.

That will be the end of such parties for 2025. I do not, however, expect those who failed to perform to a standard befitting of their station to have improved. Hopefully, I will not have to be at the receiving end of another exemplification that would make Mr Scrooge proud of this generation of graduates.

Wishing you all a merry Christmas amongst those who care enough to show that they do. Enough said.

Essential Snobbery 101: Drunk in traipse

Walk all ways

There are arresting circumstances under observation that sometimes elevate a person’s reluctant capacity to sententiousness, and it behoves one to entertain the thought process, even if nothing is eventually committed to journaling.

In this case, one could already see from afar that the man one first thought was young, naïve, quite unsteady on his feet; for whilst his direction was forward, there was no line to how his gait had lost the acuity of coherence that would suggest any sobriety. This is to be totally distinguished from where a person might, by reason of infirmity, be less disposed to display essential or required coordination.

Jolt clear ahead

By the time one was level with him, and one had to swiftly move along lest his footfalls give way to an ill-considered collision, he was trying to light a cigarette, which he successfully accomplished, and one could infer that this man was middle-aged or older.

At two pedestrian crossings, concern engendered one’s disposition that this endangered species of auto-inebriation was courting the boundaries of casualty, but he did come through unscathed until a sudden clatter, he had walked into a temporary road sign and fallen somewhat on his backside providing the necessary jolt to the senses that might have helped bring some alertness to his stupor, for soon after, either out of caution or embarrassment, he steadied himself better towards his destination.

Better than who?

The question that percolated in one’s mind all through this sordid spectacle was how anyone could not know when they have had enough to drink, such that they have sated their thirst for alcohol without being either a public nuisance or a safety risk in a public place? It is a question that always baffles, for, at the second of tipsy, one is homeward bound.

One should be sober, coherent, coordinated, and able to put one foot in front of the other. All mishaps to happen in the confines of the home, every time, all the time, and one has only once ever been given to alcohol-induced emesis at home, the only silly thing about it was that it should have been done in the toilet bowl rather than in the sink.

Yet, people would do what they would do, and people like us would walk by pondering, much holier than thou in that and probably not in another. We should take the Pharisaic trophies that are handed to us without much exertion. On to the next moral challenge.

Thought Picnic: Reflections of how an old friendship used to be

In the passage

A few weeks ago, I was invited to participate in a group exercise of self-awareness and the development of understanding purpose. This was something I would normally not be persuaded to do, but it was interesting enough to get stuck in.

Some of the exercises brought perspectives and enlightenment to areas of relationships I have cultivated, those that have turned sour and the rest that have lapsed out of the passage of time, the passage of souls, the passage of proximity, or the passage of situation.

The seeds of travel

In reflecting on one aspect, I have someone who would have been one of my oldest friends, we met in a pub, near Bayswater, in November 1991. Something about him in the look, in the appearance, and in the conversation just made him quite attractive. The encounter led to a night back at my place.

Over the years, a friendship that did not result in a relationship developed, he moved around in London and I moved out to Ipswich, his infectious curiosity helping me explore places I would never have been interested in. Then he returned home to Germany and eventually settled in Berlin. It was at his prompting that I first visited Berlin and then began to see the usefulness of travel. I caught a sense of adventure that became a European tour from London to Budapest return, including 10 cities.

Drink to the brink

That friendship soured about 7 years ago when twice in an inebriated state, things were said by him just unforgivable. I decided it was best to cease entertaining the idea of friendship as what is said under the influence is the expression of things that sobriety will constrain. Many attempts by friends to reconcile us, I have rebuffed.

Yet, I hold no grudge, it was just a case that the relationship had become unhealthy, at least for me, if not for him. It is probably not helped by the fact that I hardly drink, I am mostly sober, and I hope I have better control of my tongue, no matter the thoughts going on in my head.

For a better man

So, today, I was asked to reflect on how I might have been hurt in the past, this, of all the other issues I could have brought to the fore is the one that jumped out. This is where the power of thought and meditation begins to change perspectives.

For all the presumed failings of my old friend, there is a lot he has contributed to enrich my life, in exciting my curiosity for travel and exploration and in allowing his vulnerabilities at certain times to reveal some of my shortcomings when I think I am in a better place.

Our friendship has become a different kind of mirror, not so much of him, but now of how I need to make accommodations to acknowledge a broader good over a momentary lapse that could change the trajectory of a relationship when reviewed on the whole is more substantial than the immediate. It is a growth process and I am open to learning to be a better man.