Sober as a judge

Not sure where that expression comes from. Can’t be bothered to Google it. Feel free to, if you’re interested…..

I’ve never been a big drinker. In fact, I can probably count on two hands (and maybe one foot) the number of times I’ve been falling-down-drunk and most of those would have been in my twenties. But, I have always been a social drinker and enjoyed a glass or three of rose wine, Prosecco, or maybe a G&T. Thursday nights are when my weekend starts and I’d become accustomed to starting my weekend with a glass in hand. Book Club is synonymous with a drink or two, and when we have friends over (back in the days when we could have friends over – remember those?) it would be the same thing.

And none if this is a problem whatsoever. I have never had any concerns about my drinking habits and have always known my limit (apart from those ten odd times I mentioned earlier). As I’ve got older, hangovers are far less easy to get over – how I used to be able to go to work, early, the morning after a night out, I have no idea – and so that in itself is enough of a deterrent not to overindulge. I’ve never been very keen on doing Stoptober or Dry January, feeling that I don’t drink enough to need to or that it would make that much difference to my health or weight to not drink for a month. So where am I going with this? “Is there a point?” I hear you ask. Yes. Give me a chance.

Towards the end of the summer, I began to find that even just the odd glass of wine was leaving me feeling a bit rubbish – tummy ache, headache, generally just a bit crap – so I decided to lay off it for a bit. I didn’t really have any strong feelings about it. It wasn’t a big decision to stop drinking. (I think it would have been harder if I’d discovered that eating bread made me feel rubbish, that would really have caused me some angst.) It was never a long term plan; just a few weeks to see how I got on. After a couple of weeks had gone by, I thought I’d have a glass of wine to see how I felt – I think Book Club was on the horizon, like a little oasis in the desert of my social life, and I was testing the waters (or the wine) – and lo and behold it made me feel rubbish. Just one glass! Quite annoying. Not wanting to go to Book Club empty handed and just drinking tap water all night, I had a look for a fizzy water or something a bit more interesting in the supermarket. I chanced upon a “No-G-G&T” premixed bottle in M&S. With some ice and lemon in, it was very drinkable. And it took nearly all night for anyone to spot that I wasn’t “drinking”. Probably because it’s no big deal and we are all grown ups and there is no pre-requisite to Book Club that you have to drink. Let’s face it, there’s no pre-requisite that you have to read books! But it was interesting, from my perspective, that I clearly seemed to be having just as good a time as when I did have a glass of wine in my hand.

And that’s the crux of it. I realised that the thing I had thought I would miss was not the thing that I actually missed. I didn’t miss the alcohol per se, but I did miss the glass in my hand; the ritual of it – perhaps like a reformed smoker might miss having something to do with their hands or the ritual of an after dinner fag (grim). So, I have done some research, spoken with Mrs L (who has been a non-drinker for a few years now) and I have been enjoying an array of different alcohol-free beverages: fizzy and non-fizzy wine, gin, cocktails. Some have been more palatable than others. Some have been so good I have been lulled into feeling like I’ve been drinking drinking. It’s all about the glass you use, the additions to the no-gin gin and the ritual of it all. I am excited to go out now (not just because we’ve been so restricted) to see what non-alcoholic offerings there are on menus and I have no qualms about my drink costing as much as a full-alc version. Why should I? I’m not going to sit with a tap water and be miserable. I had a couple of fantastic AF cocktails a month or so ago when we were out with friends and they really made the night for me (the cocktails, although the friends were pretty great too).

I think my timing has been good – if I’d gone AF a few years ago I think I would have struggled. There is so much more of a market for these drinks now and I am thoroughly enjoying trying them out. And no more feeling rubbish (well not from drink anyway!)

Bottoms up.

Rebel Rebel

My girl is in a very questioning frame of mind at the moment. She’s finding her place, has strong values and opinions. These don’t always make for a happy partnership with school life.

At the more trivial end of the scale, she’s fed up with the uniform rules – what she sees as an archaic outlook on skirt lengths, jewellery, makeup. It’s Anti-Bullying Week this week and on Monday students were encouraged to wear odd, colourful socks as a way to bring awareness to the issue. A and a friend had their socks photographed by a teacher. Another student questioned why and the teacher explained it was to highlight that we’re all different and these differences should be celebrated and not used to hurt someone. A’s response? “That’s great Miss, but of course, we’ll have to be back in plain black socks tomorrow, all looking exactly the same again”. Hmm.

She relayed this over dinner, sparking a conversation about the pros and cons of uniform. A had many valid points against it and was struggling to see any of the pros that we pointed out. K and I try not to be cheerleaders for the school’s perspective and we often side with A on things, but have to temper this with realism and the understanding that things are unlikely to change in the next 6 months that she has left at school so we often come back with the “you’ve just got to grin and bear it for x amount of time” response, which I know she finds frustrating. She keeps coming back to the “hypocrisy of the school” wanting students to grow as individuals and celebrating differences, but then being told x, y or z is not acceptable. She’s pushed the uniform boundaries a couple of times lately. Nothing anarchic – just little deviations- and has been cross and triumphant in equal measure – “they’re so petty”/”they’re so predictable!”.

At the more noteworthy end of the scale, she’s completely fed up with the overt sexism that she encounters regularly. She’s outspoken about her views on feminism (not to be confused with communism – see Settling/unsettling) and this often leads to some of her male contemporaries giving her a very hard time, and frequently during lessons. She was close to tears during a lesson a month or so ago. At the time the teacher took no action, offered no suuport. At the start of the next lesson she spoke with A privately and asked her if she had really been upset by it or if she thought she was maybe being too sensitive. A replied that no she didn’t think she was being too sensitive, that the behaviour she was on the receiving end of was, in her eyes (and honestly I would defy anyone to disagree with her) totally out of order. When it all kicked off again during that lesson, the teacher came past A and whispered, “I really feel for you”. But, again, did nothing to stop the behaviour.

This is not an isolated example, it’s just one of a whole raft of unnecessary and hugely surprising (to my mind) comments and incidents. And it seems that it’s not solely perpetrated by male students. When A and a friend were sitting on a low wall during lunch, a teacher told them off for how they were sitting. She actually used the words (and I don’t think she was quoting Jane Austen) “Girls! you can’t sit like that, it’s so unladylike!”. Unladylike? Seriously. Sounds trivial, but add this to the PE uniform rule that female students are not allowed to wear sports leggings to school on PE days (due to COVID-19 students can’t get changed at school so on PE days they come to school and spend the day in their PE kit) because tight leggings could be a distraction for other (male) students. In the same way that on “non-uniform” days female students are not permitted to wear: short skirts, crop tops, vest tops, off shoulder tops (bare shoulders are a real flashpoint for some males, apparently), short shorts, ripped jeans, the list goes on….. Male students are not permitted to wear: football tops.

She feels like she’s in a constant battle: wanting to show the world who she is and what she stands for; wanting to express herself through what she wears; wanting to be in control of her own decisions, her life, her destiny; feeling hemmed in, unseen, unheard, just another black-uniform-clad clone. She is frustrated and this either manifests itself through tears and sad moods, or through belligerence and sarcasm. At the moment we’re in the latter phase and the rebel in her is demanding to be let out. Her bedroom is her haven, with the walls covered in photos, album covers, movie posters, drawings – things that represent her. We watch films and chat about stuff. But I’m not sure a walk in the lanes or a trip to the garden centre is going to cut it. School might want to brace itself….

Little pleasures

As we enter into another 4 weeks of lockdown, I find me giving myself a stern talking to.

Yes – it’s going to be different because it’s winter and the weather is more of a challenge.

Yes – I’m still going to be working just as I did all the way through Lockdown 1.0.

Yes – I will be back to talking to my parents from their driveway again and not seeing my brother or other family.

Yes – it somehow seems worse having to do it again, because this makes it more real that we will find ourselves in this situation many more times to come. Of that I have no doubt. We have to be realistic – this is not going away. We can lockdown and it will retreat a little. We can give the NHS time to recover again. But the virus is not going away. A second lockdown signals (to me anyway) that we can expect this to become a thing. Lockdown 2.0 will become Lockdown 3.0 and 4.0 and….stop now.

But, we will still be able to go out for walks, just closer to home and wrapped up in coats and hats instead of baking hot in shorts and t-shirts.

But, I am grateful to be working when so many will not be able to and despite all the “upbeat and positive” messages we hear about making the most of the time to self-care and do something productive, some people will be without the luxury of being able to do that either. No work for many means no income and no resources to be constantly baking or learning a new cooking technique. So, I am grateful.

But, at least I can still see my parents. We have been lucky. We are all still here and in good health. Some are not.

But, if this is what we need to do then we will do it and we will have to learn to live with it and it will become this “new normal” that I have shied away from and tried to ignore in my typical ostrich fashion. I never thought I would get used to wearing a mask, let alone remember to carry one with me whenever I leave the house. But it is starting to feel almost normal. I can breathe at least, which is a bonus.

I have learned a lot from that first lockdown and I don’t go out much in the winter evenings anyway. My friend L and I always joke that we have a seasonal friendship. Spring, Summer and Autumn only. We rarely see each other once November arrives, and until around March. And this is the same for most of my friendships. I don’t hibernate exactly, but I sort of do. Just with less food?

The garden was a massive help in Lockdown 1.0. We did a lot of work out there and it still gives me huge amunts of pleasure to look out and see it. I deliberately planted some things that would last all year round. I know they have a name – perennials? But I’ve also planted some red onions, brussels sprouts and garlic so I still have a reason to go out there and tend to stuff and check on stuff and nuture where nurturing is needed. I’ve even bought some garden fleece. Not for me to wear, for the plants. I know, call me Alan (if I say it often enough it might happen). I’ve just been out for the first time in about a week as the weather has been soooo awful. I’ve got little garlic shoots appearing and onions too. The brussels sprouts are less impressive – they’re growing but compared to my friends’ they’re a bit behind schedule. I am very dubious that we will have anything close to a crop for Christmas Day, but sprouts are for life and not just for Christmas.

It may sound a small thing, seeing stuff growing* but it’s going to be these little things that will keep me going. A walk with a friend. A film afternoon with A. Baking something nice as a treat with a cuppa. Lighting some candles and cosying up. And the dark evenings will just mean I can shut the outside world out earlier than before. It’s not a bad thing. I am lucky to have a warm home and food to eat and a job to do. I am lucky to live with people I love and who love me. We will get through this. And if when we have to do it again, we will get through it then too.

*I was so excited to see what I thought were garlic shoots I Googled “garlic growing progress” to check and I found a time lapse video on YouTube of just that. It was so satifsying. I am sharing it here. I defy you not to love it and if you don’t then you can keep it to yourself and worry about me if you must.