A Comedy Of Boozy Errors
Firstly, I don't have a drinking problem. I am a ‘take it or leave it’ sort of person, always have been. Adoptees often come into adulthood with addictive personalities, and sadly, alcoholism is often a factor in our lives. And, anyway I’ve not had time to develop a dependency toward alcohol, due to my crippling addiction to collecting teapots, so, thats lucky eh?
I’m not making light of alcoholism here, or any addiction for that matter, just my actions, I’m laughing at myself. If you feel that alcohol, or any other form of addiction, is costing you more than just money, there are people out there who can help. I’ll signpost these organisations at the bottom of this post.
I like a drink, I love it in fact. I can, and often do, go for weeks without alcohol. However,
when I do drink, I do it as if it's the last bottle of wine I will ever be allowed to consume. Corks and screwtops never get a return journey in my house. Anyhoo, after a couple of glasses of the red stuff, I did something yesterday that promises to put me way out of my comfort zone. As a self-proclaimed introvert, I don't believe it would have happened without the aid of the ‘Creature’ as the Irish might say.
Before I get on to that, it got me thinking about the scrapes I've ended up in during my youth when you add me to alcohol and stir … Below are the first 3 occasions that come to mind as soon as I ‘thunk about being drink’.
The few proper friends I allowed myself growing up had parents who felt it ok for them to have a drink or 2, and my parents were just as liberal. The rules were 1. Don’t be out too late, and 2. Never have more than you can handle. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure my sister or I managed either of those points regularly, and I can recall a few occasions where the contents of our booze-lined stomachs would somehow find a way to redecorate various floor coverings at home.
My friends and I made use of a newsagent/off-license that would be willing to sell us the giggle-juice of our choosing, to lubricate the meeting of minds at the proceeding Symposium on the local park after daylight hours. So as not to appear too intoxicated to our parents, we would start drinking as early in the evening as possible, that way we had plenty of sobering up time in hand.
We must have been quite a nuisance to the people living around the park we congregated in, as a visit from the police was commonplace. I can't recall ever being caught, one of the group would usually spot a rozzer well before they could give us any problems. My only memory of any police action involved us running through the scrubland at the back of the playground area in the dark. I could barely focus after one can of strong lager and a bottle of Maddog 20/20, but I remember doing my best to run away from dancing torchlights in the direction of freedom, when all of a sudden, the floor came up to meet my face. Realising I’d fallen due to ‘drinking more than I could handle’ (oops, sorry Dad), I gave up, lying on the ground waiting for PC Jobsworth to grab me by the scruff of the neck and march me off to the station.
In what seemed like seconds, I sensed a moonlit shadow loom over me.
This is it, I thought, it’s a night in the cells for me, underaged drinking, causing a public nuisance, they might even try and plant drugs on me, or make a real exanple of me, Oh shit, thats it, I’m going down! I prepared a speech “You won't get me copper … I ain’t dan naffin!”
“Wally! Get up you twat!” It wasn't the rozzers, it was one of ours, coming back to save me from rotting in prison, no doubt as the top dogs bitch, for the foreseeable.
I summoned the strength of 10 tigers (3 sparrows), rose to my feet, and ran (or was I dragged?) to safety. It turned out that ‘safety’ was a huge thorny bush that already contained 4 other members of our inebriated gang. We did our best to stifle our more than nervous laughter as we watched the torchlight finally fade away, we waiting a while longer, in our spikey hideaway, just in case the thin blue line was bluffing and was just waiting for us to return, we breathed a collective sigh of relief, emerged from the bush and went our separate ways home.
Then there was the time, a few years later, I was around 21 years of age, when I was forced to finish a full pint I didn't need as quickly as possible, as we had a lift home waiting. I was bundled into the back seat of a mates car, feeling as if my brain was floating in bath of alcohol. This marks the only occasion in my life so far that I have been sick down the door of a car. I was dropped off a few doors away from my house. Luckily for me, my Grandparents lived a few doors away on the same street. My legs had ceased to exist, so I had to drag my sorry carcass like a legless zombie, down their driveway at 1 am and into the garage where I knew Grandad kept his wheelchair. I hauled myself in and slept under his red tartan blanket until 3 am. I woke with a start, not having a single clue where I was. It was raining and dark, it smelled exactly like my Grandparents' garage, but surely not?!
This was not good. I needed to get home. I went to move out of the chair, my legs still failed me, and I hit the floor. I then proceeded to drag myself in the pouring rain to the back door of the house. I banged on it until they came to my aid! What a loser, Pathetic!
But all that pales into insignificance when I consider my worst ever night. My first and only Stag night. I have been married twice, but only ever had one stag.
I had chosen, stupidly, to go out on the Thursday night before the Saturday of my wedding. I had invited a few of my closest friends along to share the night with me. When we arrived at the pub we had chosen to meet in, the place was full of people who had all ‘chosen’ to help me celebrate. What started out being a small gathering of close friends and family sharing a drink in a few pubs in Nottingham quickly descended into a murmuration of drunken humans all outdoing each other in a game of ‘let's see how much alcohol we can get Andy to drink before he dies’.
9 pm, that's the last time I recall seeing the time. The next thing I knew, I was being extracted from freezing cold water that surrounded the fountain in the centre of town, with just my underwear on (boxer shorts with sharks on, if you are wondering - sexy as …). Apparently, they didnt want to get my clothes wet, well, how very thoughtful … Dick heads!
My extraction from said water was not as you might believe by my so-called mates, oh no. I was aided by a female police officer!
I was then unceremoniously carried through the back doors of a taxi and laid across the back seat, the driver was paid his ‘puke tax’ and I was transported home. I woke at 8 am on the floor of my lounge with my best mate at the time sitting next to me, he'd been there all night, and I quote, “Just in case you stopped breathing!”
Now, I am far from a violent person, very placid, easy going, I dont care for too much bother in my life, but this innocent Buddhist of a man ran down a street to try and punch one of the revellers because they were threatening to throw me in the fountain in the square (oh the irony!). The road I was running down dipped, and I … didn’t, instead choosing to fall forward using my face as a brake.
After coming to and getting dressed that Friday morning, I was taken by my future mother-in-law to Accident and Emergency to check if I had suffered any concussion! You know, even now I have a slightly discoloured and numb front tooth and a huge void in my memory where the rest of that night's experiences should be. I know what you're thinking … Classy!
Ok, all that brings me to the whole point of this blog.
Yesterday Wednesday 2nd July 2025, I had a few glasses of red wine, I often do after I finish a string of shifts, My work has a zero tolerance to drugs and alcohol, and they spring a test on you without warning, so in the interests of being able to pay my mortgage, i forgo any of the silly syrup until I know I’m going to be off for a few days. Well, I’m on my third glass of Jamshed Shiraz (other wine is available) when, during a bit of doom scrolling, I came across an advert for a charity event. Learn to be a stand-up comedian and raise money for charity at the same time. With no thought for my safety, and a thinking process muddled, but conversely feeling like Superman, I signed up!
Shut the fridge door!
I love comedy, I like being funny, my mind is a tangent waiting to happen … I’m always on the lookout for the ridiculous. In some ways, I think I am perfect for this opportunity, but then Brian, my little negative friend in my head, tells me you're an idiot, you can't do this, what the hell is wrong with you?
You will be eaten alive.
Screw you Brian, its happening, get used to it!
So there you have it, The organisation is called Ultra Comedy, and later this year I will be getting a few weeks' training as part of the event, then there's an official gig arranged for December in Nottingham.
I’ll post more information on here and my socials as I get it, but I think I’ll be doing it on behalf of Mind, the UK mental health charity. Look out for a Just Giving page and please give what you can.
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction. Find help. The world is better with you in it
https://www.drinkaware.co.uk/advice-and-support/alcohol-support-services
https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/alcohol-advice/alcohol-support/
Who’s Wally? - Adoption, Brian, and Me, the Book
Win a copy of the book in my August book draw - Find out how to enter here.
Photo byVinicius "amnx" Amano onUnsplash
