Saturday, 2 January 2016
Eat, drink and be merry. Tomorrow ...
Did you watch the Sherlock special last night? What a clever all-rounder Mark Gatiss is, but not as clever as Mycroft. We can only guess how clever he is.
There is at least another 10 days of wind and rain forecast for the whole of G.B. but I am beginning to get cabin-fever. Watching TV last night made us realise why we stopped some time ago. By the time you are ready to go to bed, your mind is racing but your body is shot through inactivity.
Bang on January 1st, our government have unveiled their latest diktats regarding the Health of the Nation - any earlier and nobody would have listened, of course.
Sugar got pushed up into the bracket of tobacco months ago, and there have been half-hearted attempts to stop the binge-drinking which makes most city streets horrible places to be after 8.00 at night.
Then they focussed on older drinkers - people like me who don't go on the rampage outside every night, but sit at home behind closed doors sipping wine and generally minding our own business. I am not a drain on the NHS, and I don't intend to be, but all the Accident and Emergency units throughout the country are clogged with 18-30 year olds, the peak times being right now.
So the latest over-kill measure has been to bring the safe units of alcohol consumption for men down to a par with the recommended maximum for women, despite the sad fact that men can withstand almost twice as much alcohol as women without irreparable damage, due to some difference in enzymes or something biological. It's all about equality and equal rights, and the only way that drunks will listen to you is if you shout.
I have my own methods to protect myself - this is why the decanter of sloe gin I made is pretty much untouched. Like Sherlock with his morphine and cocaine, I have come to the conclusion that I am a user, not an addict. That is not to say that I don't over-use on a pretty regular basis, but if I was an addict then I would not have as many unfinished bottles of alcohol strewn about the place as there are this Christmas. I spent several years taking cocaine on a very regular basis too, so I know I was not addicted to that either, when I abruptly stopped.
I need to find someone who really likes sloe gin, but is not an addict or an over-user. I wouldn't wish that headache on anyone - no, that's not true. You can have it, but I want the decanter back.
I don't over-eat either, but then again, neither do alcoholics. The British middle-class obsession with food becomes greater as the middle-classes become more numerous, but all the fat people are now poor, they tell us. In the old days before the Welfare State, all poor people were thin, and everyone smoked.
The government advice on how to save the NHS a few billion quid is crudely timed to the second to coincide with the brief period when the more simple amongst us are making resolutions we won't keep for improving our well-being, consideration for others, blah blah.... of course. It really helps that the tear-jerk (but very charming) Greenwich Health Authority record made it to Number One in the charts this year, helped by that video. Green Eyes issued a challenge for us to watch it without getting a moist eye or two, and I failed.
I used to be much keener on cooking years ago, but the obscene preoccupation with food which produces all those bloody programs, celebrity chefs and semi-pornographic magazines devoted to it have made me lose my appetite. When I was keen on cooking, Mrs Beaton was my bible, and the illustrations were lithographic art-works, not hi-resolution, close-up photos glistening with drizzled fluids, suggesting sex with Nigella. Christ, all I want now is nutrition.
Posted by Tom Stephenson at 04:10