The boy who would be (drin)king

I’ve always had a strange relationship with alcohol. As a child growing up, I would often wait on the grass verge outside my house waiting for my father to come home from the pub on a Sunday afternoon. I used to think it must be so cool to go to the pub, sit at the bar and talk with friends over a pint. I was about 10 at that time, but it wouldn’t be long before I started doing what I always wanted. 

The truth is that my obsession with going to social clubs and pubs had started a lot earlier. When I was a kid we moved out of the family home in Basingstoke and had to move into my nan’s house in the nearby village of Overton. This wasn’t due to any family break up or anything like that, although I don’t really remember the exact details behind the move, I think my dad might have lost his job and we had to move for financial reasons. Whatever the reason though, there we were. 

I had a nice, normal childhood upbringing. The youngest of 4 children, we always had a lot of love and fun as kids. The two eldest siblings - my sisters - were a bit older than my brother and I so it was always me and him playing together. We are very close in age and in truth we were like two mates and this remains the case to this day. It was a loving family environment and I wouldn’t change any of it really. 

As young children, my mum would be at home doing the “traditional” housewife stuff (cooking, cleaning, school runs etc) while my dad would go out to work, although mum would later start working, as me and brother reached young teenage years, it was normal life. So normal it’s boring really!! Certainly it wasn’t detrimental to me to the point that might explain my later dependence on alcohol. 

I never really felt like I fitted in though. Whether that be at home or school, I was something of a socially awkward teenager and young man. A boy of such unbelievable shyness and low self esteem, I would often spend a lot of time in my room alone because I sometimes felt like I was in the way. This low self worth would become a much greater problem in my late thirties and early forties, but I’ll get to that much later. 

Back to village life now, and my dad would often drive to our former home town of Basingstoke on a Sunday lunchtime to frequent the pub or the sort of working mens club that seemed to be about in that time. Me and my brother would beg and plead with him to take us with him and more often than not he was happy to do so. So off we’d go in the car and drive the 10 miles to town where dad would have a “few” pints whilst me and my brother attempted to play Snooker or Darts until it was time to go home. We’d bundle back into the car and my father would drive home. We never even considered how dangerous this was after my dad had been drinking for a few hours, it was just what we did at that time. I don’t think we’re alone in that. In the Seventies and Eighties a lot of men would behave in such fashion and think it completely normal. Luckily we were never in any kind of accident and mercifully that lifestyle no longer exists in society now there is greater focus and scrutiny on drink driving. It was bloody stupid and dangerous though, everyone can see that now. 

After about 18 months we moved back to Basingstoke and into the family home in which I grew into adulthood and in which my mum still lives to this day. This house was a stone's throw from 2 pubs and the social club which I mentioned before so the dangerous car rides were now firmly a thing of the past. Now dad could walk to the pub and I could take up my 3PM Sunday observation spot on the grass verges. 

Although I was still too young to use the pub as much as I would’ve liked, I wasn’t too young to start working there. Obviously I couldn’t work behind the bar or anything like that, I could sweep the yard, collect glasses and help with the traditional Sunday meet raffle (I know, living the dream right?!!). It became a strange sort of family right of passage to work at that pub - The Royal Oak - and I was following in the footsteps of my brother by doing the Sunday afternoon shift. I even worked there on Saturday mornings too. Making a cool £10 in the process. I even used to work during school holidays watering the many, many plants that were on show in the beer garden. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before I too had to hand over the reins to someone else as my school life ended and I got a “proper” job. The good thing now was that even though I was no longer working there, I started to get where I wanted to be. On the customer side of the bar, drinking with my old man. 

Now, my dad was a fantastic man and a great father. It wasn’t like he would force me to drink hard stuff. He would let me have a couple of lager shandies (then lager top and finally a normal run of the mill pints as I grew in years) and he was ALWAYS there to keep an eye on me to make sure I wouldn’t go crazy or get into any sort of trouble. When I reached an age that I started to go into the pubs by myself, I started to realise that I was pretty good at this drinking lark. I was 15 at this point so I was obviously underage - the staff and management didn’t mind as long as I behaved myself - and I felt like the coolest motherfucker going. 

All through the week my friends at school would try to get me to go out with them on the weekends and sit in the parks to drink any old booze they could get their hands on. I always refused though because I knew I could walk the 90 seconds down the road to the Oak where I’d definitely get served and it wasn’t too far to stagger home to my bed at the end of a night. I thought it was a pretty sweet deal to be honest with you. 

I remember the first time I got drunk with my father in the pub. I was 14 or 15 and there were always live bands on a Friday night and one night dad suggested going to see one. He said it was because he knew I’d enjoy the music but looking back he more than likely just fancied a night down the boozer!! We made a night of it though, there was me and dad joined by my mum, my eldest sister and her boyfriend. It was a laugh, and I was watching the band all night with pints of lager being brought my way, I thought to myself “ This is a bit of alright you know?!, I could get used to this” And I did. 

The journey home was fairly uneventful, cueing up for kebab, throwing most of said kebab away because it was rank then falling out of bed so many times I lost count. You know, the usual!!! And most importantly of all, on the Saturday morning I had no hangover whatsoever!! All in all, a pretty good experience I thought. Looking back at it now I’ll admit it was crap and, at the very least, incredibly boring. 

When I started at college and my social circle widened, I started to frequent different bars etc, the drunken escapades became a bit more full on. I never thought I was doing anything wrong though. I felt it was a stage of life that I had to enjoy while I was a young man because it would stop in my later life (spoiler, it didn’t). I wasn’t drinking that much - or every day - because I was only working part time and I couldn’t afford it. But then I decided to leave college early with no qualifications and get a full time position somewhere. 

Sure enough, I soon found that work and I was earning a hell of a lot more money. My mum would ask for next to nothing in monthly housekeeping and I was free to spend the rest on whatever I wanted. It was at this time that I started going out almost every night - sometimes on my own - and sitting in the pub until closing time. I got out of control with it to the point that I ended up in a bit of debt because I would spend my wages, then my overdraft and then my overdraft’s overdraft!! It was a mess, but the only time I asked for help was to sort my finances out. I never mentioned drinking at all. 

This was the first time that I started to think I might have a drink problem, but I was so young (maybe 21) that my youthful and reckless brain soon removed those thoughts. I’d also begun to drink at home. I was still living in the family home at this time and I would have a couple of slabs of Stella in my room that my dad had got me from his regular booze and fag runs to France and Belgium. I would phone my mum during my work day and ask her to put 4 cans in the fridge, I’d have two with dinner - usually eaten alone in my bedroom - then go out and have close to 10 pints before returning home to have the remaining two cans. 

It was crazy and looking back now I’m quite ashamed and embarrassed about it. I wrongly presumed that I’d grow out of such behaviour and things would settle down for me. But the seeds were sown and even though my drinking noticeably reduced for a while, the issue would return with full force in the years to come. 

Phil