a taste for it, that’s it.’
He worked here and there wherever he could, but arthritis prevented him from working a regular week. He sounded resigned to his fate. ‘Treatment wouldn’t work for me, I tried
it,’ he said.
When I asked him how many drinks per day he got through, he said he wasn’t able to answer. ‘I might work a few hours and help out around the place here and then I could drink for
another few hours. My daughter is on the phone saying I will have to go back to treatment, but I can’t relate to the people in there. A lot of the men are violent with the drink but not me.
Looking back on my life, drink just got the better of me.’
The fact that ‘John’ was willing to speak openly about his addiction and his attempts to tackle it confirmed something I have noticed over the past few years—that drinkers were
becoming more open about alcohol-associated illnesses. The bar worker and wife of the owner confirmed as much, when I brought up the subject with her. ‘I don’t think there is as much of
a stigma anymore. I know the lads in during the day will still slag about it. Some of them might have been in psychiatric wards but will see that more for depression rather than drink. I think the
stigma thing is going.’
Getting treatment is one thing, though; being able to remain sober after treatment is the tricky part. ‘It’s extremely hard if they don’t have supports,’ said the bar
worker, ‘unless a wife or someone is getting onto you about it, it is a real battle. If you have a job and stuff then fine, you may be able to make it. The difference is that you need to have
another life outside of the pub. For guys who don’t have another outlet, what are you going to do? Are you going to say is it worth my while to sit here? I imagine if I was in their place I
would be thinking, so what will I do, sit at home seven nights a week?’
The question of how these regulars finance their drinking lifestyle is beginning to resonate more, now that the economic boom has been left behind. But where there’s a wino, there’s
a way. ‘One of the guys coming into us is drinking some amount at the moment and I’ve been thinking, where is he getting the money?’ said the bar worker. ‘Someone told me he
is selling cigarettes on the black market. A lot of people are on the dole and they work cash in hand. This worked very well before the recession and they’d get a few jobs from a builder and
get very well paid. So if they work two days [a] week, it’d be enough. Lately one of the guys worked a bank holiday Monday and he said to me, “I never worked a Monday in my life, not to
mention a bank holiday!” That will tell you how bad it’s gone. But that’s how they fund it, they’re milking a system and these people are all on rent allowance and so on.
Those that have kids, I can’t say I ever see the kids suffer financially. I don’t know how they fund things like that—Christmas comes and is sorted, and so are communions and
confirmations. I don’t know whether they borrow money but you don’t see them skint very often. Lately a bit, perhaps, but I hadn’t seen it for years.’
John’s approach stayed with me. As an ex-drinker you’re constantly having to stop yourself assuming the moral high ground and judging. You forget sometimes how ridiculous the plight
of the problem drinker is and the lack of control and awareness a serial drinker has. Sometimes I drive past bars where daytime drinkers are congregated and want to open the window and call them
all fucking losers. Fuck them and the added strain on the health system. Fuck them and the chips on their shoulders. Fuck them and their stories of being passed over for jobs or screwed by
ex-wives. Fuck them and their farts, their stale breath, their yellow teeth. Fuck them.
I get angry, not because of them (although you’d hardly know it!), but because I wasted so much of my own existence, of my life, thinking there was
He worked here and there wherever he could, but arthritis prevented him from working a regular week. He sounded resigned to his fate. ‘Treatment wouldn’t work for me, I tried
it,’ he said.
When I asked him how many drinks per day he got through, he said he wasn’t able to answer. ‘I might work a few hours and help out around the place here and then I could drink for
another few hours. My daughter is on the phone saying I will have to go back to treatment, but I can’t relate to the people in there. A lot of the men are violent with the drink but not me.
Looking back on my life, drink just got the better of me.’
The fact that ‘John’ was willing to speak openly about his addiction and his attempts to tackle it confirmed something I have noticed over the past few years—that drinkers were
becoming more open about alcohol-associated illnesses. The bar worker and wife of the owner confirmed as much, when I brought up the subject with her. ‘I don’t think there is as much of
a stigma anymore. I know the lads in during the day will still slag about it. Some of them might have been in psychiatric wards but will see that more for depression rather than drink. I think the
stigma thing is going.’
Getting treatment is one thing, though; being able to remain sober after treatment is the tricky part. ‘It’s extremely hard if they don’t have supports,’ said the bar
worker, ‘unless a wife or someone is getting onto you about it, it is a real battle. If you have a job and stuff then fine, you may be able to make it. The difference is that you need to have
another life outside of the pub. For guys who don’t have another outlet, what are you going to do? Are you going to say is it worth my while to sit here? I imagine if I was in their place I
would be thinking, so what will I do, sit at home seven nights a week?’
The question of how these regulars finance their drinking lifestyle is beginning to resonate more, now that the economic boom has been left behind. But where there’s a wino, there’s
a way. ‘One of the guys coming into us is drinking some amount at the moment and I’ve been thinking, where is he getting the money?’ said the bar worker. ‘Someone told me he
is selling cigarettes on the black market. A lot of people are on the dole and they work cash in hand. This worked very well before the recession and they’d get a few jobs from a builder and
get very well paid. So if they work two days [a] week, it’d be enough. Lately one of the guys worked a bank holiday Monday and he said to me, “I never worked a Monday in my life, not to
mention a bank holiday!” That will tell you how bad it’s gone. But that’s how they fund it, they’re milking a system and these people are all on rent allowance and so on.
Those that have kids, I can’t say I ever see the kids suffer financially. I don’t know how they fund things like that—Christmas comes and is sorted, and so are communions and
confirmations. I don’t know whether they borrow money but you don’t see them skint very often. Lately a bit, perhaps, but I hadn’t seen it for years.’
John’s approach stayed with me. As an ex-drinker you’re constantly having to stop yourself assuming the moral high ground and judging. You forget sometimes how ridiculous the plight
of the problem drinker is and the lack of control and awareness a serial drinker has. Sometimes I drive past bars where daytime drinkers are congregated and want to open the window and call them
all fucking losers. Fuck them and the added strain on the health system. Fuck them and the chips on their shoulders. Fuck them and their stories of being passed over for jobs or screwed by
ex-wives. Fuck them and their farts, their stale breath, their yellow teeth. Fuck them.
I get angry, not because of them (although you’d hardly know it!), but because I wasted so much of my own existence, of my life, thinking there was
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