Don't let me spoil your snort, old sport

Luky;

IN MAY this year it will be many years since I gave up drinking and smoking.

The anniversaries pass by unheralded and unsung.

Even if I remembered, I wouldn't make a fuss.

My husband, however, used to praise me.

"I must admire you," he said sincerely.

"You manage to face every crisis of life without the aid of a spot."

Modestly I demurred, though I couldn't help admitting that my self-discipline had lasted years.

But later I thought about the fact that I turned my back on drink and nicotine so long ago, and I congratulated myself.

In all honesty I must admit that had I known what this promise to our Lord and our Lady was going to take out of me, I'd never have made it.

Happy ignorance

It's strange to recall that I smoked rather heavily and drank quite moderately, yet my craving for cigarettes continued for only five and a half years, while my yearning for a spot continues until this day.

How I love that feeling of devil-may-care which lifts you right out of your shoes and makes you laugh at problems which grind the breath out of you while you confine yourself to coffee or tea.

Bargain

The last time my husband was ill and we thought he was on his way out, he told me he had promised that if our Lord would cure him and spare his life, he would give up drinking.

He was desperately ill as he told me this, but I was horrified.

"For heaven's sake, revoke it before you're cured", I begged.

"How am I ever going to get any money out of you if you're perpetually sober?"

I still laugh at the Irishness of his reply, made in the weakest of whispers:

"I have already revoked it, since our Lord failed to keep his part of the bargain."

He was too ill for me to split hairs and explain that if our Lord did fail to keep his part of the bargain, he would never be able to drink again anyway.

Saved 

But I felt as though I had been saved by the bell.

Only when he had a spot did he sign the cheques.

One of the beautiful things about having enjoyed drink and cigarettes oneself is the fact that you never become an old sobersides where others are concerned.

I gave up because I'm inclined to overdo a good thing, as witness my weight; but I like to see others having a good time.

Our Lord changed water into wine at Cana.

If he wanted all of us to become Pioneers, he wouldn't have done it.

Kinds of giving

Still, many of us like to do something extra for him, not because he forces us, but despite the fact that he doesn't.

Some people give; others give up, depending on their outlook or the state of their finances.

When I look at the sacrifices made by many people in order to carry our their ministries, I am happy to contribute in my little way.

I only wish I had the strength to give up chocolates and cakes - then my body and soul would both benefit.

Nobody can say I hide my light under a bushel, so no doubt any rewards due to my abstinence are diminished by self-praise.

All I can say to that is that the past ten years were a hard slog for me.

But by God's grace, I've won through.

Here's to the next ten.

Cheers!

Catherine Nicolette

Having lived in a household where the patriarch enjoyed a drop of the Irish holy water, and the matriarch eschewed the same, I had a somewhat ambivalent approach to alcohol.

I made a promise to God when I was seven that I would not touch alcohol until I was twenty one.

I kept that promise (it was relatively easy to keep; not earning a salary, and water, tea and juice being the beverage of choice in Welkom for children paved the way).

Then began the weddings; I used to stand out as somewhat odd because I did not take a glass of celebratory champagne. 

So I learned the fine art of taking a 'tiny bit of champagne' - just enough to cover the bottom of the glass - and pretending to take a sip.

So everyone was happy!

Now began the fun.

By twenty one I had become used to being alcohol free.
By the time my forties came along I had never tasted a drink.

I kind of thought one day that it was silly not to try, the twenty one anniversary having doubled and all, and some friends of mine encouraged me to have a glass.

Not knowing about the delicate mechanism of alcohol units, and how to remain relatively sober, I enthusiastically decided to try.

I was unaware that one of the bright sparks had brought up a particularly potent brew from the country, which was meant to be sipped in small amounts.

Tall glass
Being used to drinking juice in tall glasses, I took one such glass and filled it before the fascinated eyes of my friends.

"Will you be alright drinking that?" one of them asked doubtfully.

"Oh sure," I responded confidently, and downed it.

Still being somewhat thirsty, I poured another glass and drank it, somewhat more slowly this time.

By this time, some of the lads had become onlookers, and eyed me with awed respect.

Everyone seemed to wait for something to happen, but nothing much did.

I found it had tasted somewhat strong, but pleased with myself, I tucked into the party.

Excrutiating
The next morning I awoke; I thought I was dying.

The pain in my head was excrutiating. 

I was suffering from photophobia, I could barely look into the morning light.

There was stiffness in my neck, and any sound went through my head with a clapper of pain.

I was terrified.

At the Accident and Emergency Department I spoke to a young physician, and told him fearfully that I rather suspected I had meningitis.

He looked at me with an expert eye.

"Meningitis my eye", he said bluntly, "you've got a hangover."

After a heart to heart, during which he had explained to me the facts about drinking sensibly, making sure you've had a meal beforehand, and plenty of water to wash the lot down, I emerged a wiser woman.

These days, if I rejoice with my friends, I often tend to stick to fizzy rosè juice or 4%.

It's a lot tidier that way . . .