Luky;
ONE NIGHT we nipped into the public lounge of one of the local hotels for a drink.
I am uneasy in hotels. In strong contrast, my husband loved them.
Whether he entered the pub, or the lounge with its dim lights and soft music, it was all the same to him - he was in his element.
And so I sometimes went along with him, especially when I wanted a quiet, uninterrupted chat about the things in life that count, such as money.
I did not get far that night. In the corner of the lounge, a woman was seated, unescorted. She sat with her back to us, and a pretty back it was. Then she turned and stared at us in a certain unblinking, wavering way, and I could see she was inebriated. Under the lovely dark hair her face was ravaged, and I reflected sorrowfully on the pity of the fact.
I did not watch her in a spirit of censoriousness or disgust. I am the last person in the world to have the right to that, having decided to become a teetotaller only when I began to have difficulty in putting the cork back on the bottle when I should.
Troubles
One bad day somebody imparted a bit of information to me which made me feel as if the ceiling had dropped on my head, and that feeling persistently grew worse until I felt like the old man who said:
"Everyone's got troubles, but no one has mine."
"You look all in", my husband would say with concern: "Let me pour you a spot."
And I'd agree apathetically. That was when I sampled the therapeutic value of a drink for the first time, and incidentally learnt to have an abiding pity for those people who turn to the bottle for solace.
That heavy stone resting on my heart would lift, and soon I'd be feeling almost human. Ten minutes later the stone would drop back and I'd toss off another few drinks like a seasoned veteran.
If you are expecting this to turn into the heartwarming story of a young mother, who, having descended to the gutter on her drinking sprees, found her feet again, I'm afraid I must disillusion you. I didn't get as far as the gutter because I've got more sense than that.
Our Lord counselled us to firmly resist temptation, and He never spoke lightly. I do give the front door of the bottle store a very wide berth.
You may feel that everything taken in moderation is good for one. But what happens if you don't know how to moderate yourself?
Catherine Nicolette
Moderation; what a balanced word. And how hard it is to manage at times. One time I didn't manage it was when I visited some deeply respected families. Feeling somewhat out of my depth and, not knowing many people there, I became a little wallflower next to the luxuriously patterned wallpaper. But not for long. The host, an expansive and kindly man, took the measure of my discomfort and came over to me. "I've got just the thing for you", he said, "some of my homebrewed wine."
"Don't touch any of it", his wife warned me, "that stuff is lethal."
"Why?" I asked, intrigued. "What is it made of?"
Harmless
The host, embarrassed, mumbled of such items as elderflower, honey, raisins. And sugar. They all sounded most harmless.
"Yes, of course I'll try some", I said. The host beamed, and poured a generous tumblerful. I drank it. Then some more. It was a hot day, and I was really thirsty.
I followed it with rice wine. And what better to end it all up with than peach wine - which, incidentally, had a mellow and well rounded taste.
Dear Reader, take it from me; if wine from the grapes needs to be treated with respect, homemade wines should only be handled with fireproof oven gloves, and drunk to the maximum of a sewing thimble size.
Foreigner
Within one hour, I was merry. Within two hours, one of my fellow elderflower drinkers got up, bowed deeply and ceremonially to the foreigner in their midst, and serenaded me with a beautiful local song. I do remember part of the song paying tribute to my shining eyes. They were shining all right; warmed with peaches and spice.
It seemed only right that I stand up and sing a song back to him. After, of course a deep ceremonial bow from the waist from the foreigner to the locals in the midst. We were both misty eyed with emotion and overcome by the beauty of our songs. I had, of course, not taken one vital fact into consideration; the gentleman had a wife. To whom he had been married thirty years. Who was seated next to him.
Disgrace
One of my friends came to visit me the next morning. I was in deep disgrace. After receiving a strong lecture, to which I humbly listened, I fervently begged forgiveness and contritely promised never to touch of the juice of the elderflower or peach again.
My friend bitterly ended by recounting his deep shame that morning, when one of his friends came to him and said, "You never told me that your friend from Ireland was a drinker . . ."
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