Experience

He could vividly remember the first time. Under the bridge on the
canal. They had goaded him his mates. Called him a whimp, a pussy, a
girl. Friends and their opinions were so important then. The need to
be accepted by the group. They unscrewed the cap and handed him the
bottle. He held it to his mouth the bubbles of fermented apples
escaping up his nose. He coughed, spluttered and chocked as the fiery
liquid poured down his throat. They laughed, clapped him on the back
and welcomed him to the gang. Initiation over. His first taste of
alcohol, and he hated it.

His hatred changed over the years, his tastes becoming more refined.
Visits to vineyards in France with his beloved Sophie gave him a more
experienced palate. He knew which wines to pair with which foods and
friends always looked forward to his sumptuous dinner parties with a
different beverage for each course. His job, well paid, allowed him
to experiment with different vintages. His particular favourite was
‘fizz’ which he would open up at any opportunity, celebration or
not, with only the most expensive bottles to be accepted. Drinking
with meals extended to the nightcap. Once again he could describe all
the hidden flavours within the amber nectar as he liked to call it.
One small nightcap often led to two or more. Sophie tried to persuade
him to drink less, worried that he was becoming dependant. ‘Don’t
be a fuss pot. There’s nothing to worry about. You know I just like
the taste and not the effect that alcohol has.’

Mornings began to find him groggy with a permanent headache but a
small glass of something transformed him to be, what he considered,
his normal self. Sophie worried and fussed, he got angry.

Work began to suffer and the inevitable happened, he lost his job.
Sophie said she’d give him space to think about things so moved in
with her mother. Her parting comment a suggestion that he should ask
the doctor for help. Met once again with anger and a drink to soothe
the nerves.

The house was repossessed, he slept on friend’s couches for a while
but friends gradually disappeared. He found friendship in a bottle.

Sitting under a bridge on a canal towpath all his worldly possessions
in plastic bags, bottle in hand, he settled down into the arms of
Morpheus and dreamed the good dreams he provided.