I am totally pissed as I write this. I'm not bragging, it was only the one bottle, and I had to mix it with water. In the old days I could knock back at least three, party til the wee small hours, and still make it to work at approximately 9.00ish. Albeit, when I rushed out for a fag break, I had to throw up, get as many drags of nicotine as I was able, and grab a greasy bacon sandwich and a tea, two sugars, on the way back. I now feel the words 'thank heaven for Greggs hot sausage rolls' should be included in the famous song, for we who make it to the office.
I literally cannot drink anymore. You could say, the spirit is willing, but the body is weak. Very weak. I vaguely remember from GCSE biology that the liver rids the body of toxins, and to be honest, my own one has probably had more than its fair share to deal with. It gives me hell the next day, I do not know whether to blame my lethargy on the booze, the drugs or the weed, or the sheer exhaustion of howling into the wind.
I shouldn't have to be fighting women of my own age, my own generation, my own class. I was a kid in the 60's, I lived in Virginia Water, there was a stark contrast between those who owned their properties and those who rented them. I think that was when the divisions of class hurt me the most. I hung out with the rich kids, because they were the more articulate, more like me, and I loved the sheer joy in their faces when I taught them how to swear and make mud pies. I loved the kids like me too, the poor kids, the fun ones, the ones who knew how to enjoy life.
It wasn't the rich kids or their parents, per se, who turned me into a class warrior. It was society's perceptions of those friendships. Our teachers (catholic school) always knew how to segregate the financial donars and those who fitted into the designated catchment areas. In the 1960's there was no necessity to disguise class prejudice.
I learned to accept my 'station' in life at a very early age, but I didn't blame those on the other side of that great big class barrier. From what I knew, they were one the whole, good eggs, who meant well.
Albeit, I believe most of my readers come from classes way above mine. I felt as though I missed out, because my parents were nuts and totally irresponsible. I was placed into a convent/prison where I encountered living/walking/talking psychopaths on a daily basis. Those freaky nazis in those old black and white films that mesmerized me as a kid, actually existed. What a nightmare to find out that they do.