Following on from my valentines day blog and hot Valentines date with my girl last night I was going to talk about sex today.
Readers of this blog will be interested to note if the slap up romantic KFC I talked about on Valentines day resulted in my Valentines blozzer. Well, without disclosing too much information. I rejected Colonel Saunders for the far more stylish Gaucho Grill in Sloane Square. One of my favourite places. A stylish and sexy Grill. Full of leather, mirrors and animal skin. (Not one for the Vegans)
I'm happy to report that an upgrade of the romantic venue got me an upgrade on the desired blozzer. I began writing this at 4am on Sunday morning. I think I'll leave it at that.
I have written a blog about sex but will save it for later. The reason I changed my mind is because I went to a meeting this morning (Sunday) off the Kings Road and had an experience that moved me to write a different blog.
I felt suprisingly sprightly for only 3 hours sleep. The sun was shining. I was full of Valentine love and off I toddled.
Usually Kings Road meetings are known for their lack of hard hitting drunks. It is more about 'feelings', 'boundaries' and 'high class problems' but If I ever wondered why I go to meetings. I got my answer today.
It was a topic meeting. The topic picked was 'positivity'. "Oh god", my heart sank. My negative ego doesn't like to be challenged see.
The usual mixture of irrelevant psycho babble and exceptional wisdom was shared as I flitted in and out of listening. Then half way through the meeting a drunk staggered in, weaving across the room, aimed for an empty chair, missed, stumbled into a well dressed woman, then finally hit his aim and slumped in the seat.
He had odd shoes on, horribly swollen ankles, white trousers with massive shit stains up the back, a battered Barbour jacket, a stained hat and was shaking violently. The DT's. He was a chronic alcoholic in severe stages of withdrawal and advanced alcoholism. It broke my heart.
If I ever needed a reason to attend meetings there it was infront of me. Suddenly I stopped listening to the sharing. It seemed immaterial and instead I concentrated on the man in front of me.
He had a straggly bears, scars and bumps on his face, eyes that had seen a thousand things they shouldn't and stunk of piss and shit. He was as bad as you can get. He reminded me of my Father.
I went downstairs to the kitchen to get him half a cup of tea, but they had packed the tea stuff away. Another guy from the meeting (A proper AA) went out to Costa to get him a coffee. The meeting ended and me and my mate held up this guy and chatted to him.
His name was Billy, he was 56, was homeless and had struggled with alcoholism all his life. He had been coming in and out of AA for 15 years, the longest sobriety he had was 8 months and he was in terrible shape. Poor Billy. I said, 'I really feel for you man'. He replied "we're all in the same boat." Which I guess we are. He really got to me. Tears are welling up now as I write this. I think of my Father. A hopeless street drunk. I think of the many other chronic alcoholics. It Breaks my heart.
Yet despite the sadness and the madness. He was hilarious. There is a tragic comedy about the alcoholic. I saw it in my father. I found 2 combs and bus pass in his shit stained trousers when he died. The alcoholic ego is the last thing to go. There is a strange charismatic humour to a rip roaring drunk and Billy was no exception. He had the style, even if it was piss and shit stained and he had the charisma, even if he was walking like a zombie. Peripheral Neuritis had undoubtedly taken hold (where the alcohol destroys the nerve endings)
After chatting to him for a few minutes, it was obvious that he was in his own world. I helped him sit down, (took us 4 goes to hit the target) told him to stay for the next meeting, to load up on biscuits and wished him good luck.
A guy from the meeting came over to me and said, 'Nice work', then another asked "Is Billy OK and a regular?!!! What the fuck do you think. He's got shit stained strides and can barely walk! Of course he's not alright. Still it was good of him to ask.
I went for a cup of tea on Kings Road with a mate to talk about his rapidly disintegrating relationship with a girl who not only has low self esteem but is a chronic co-dependant (sounds like a perfect fit for an alcoholic), looked out of the window at the posh shops of Kings Road and there was Billy, propped against a wall mumbling to everyone who walked past.
It was a funny site as he was propped against a posh clothes shop under the banner, 'Valentines Special'. I didn't see that on any greeting cards. It was pure comedy gold.
Then he slid down the wall, laying on the pavement for a kip. He laid across a doorway of expensive apartments, people had to step over him to get into their £3million home and passers by rather sweetly stopped to check he was OK. The girls in the shop didn't know what to do, so I went across.
'It's OK I know him", I said.
"Where from?" They asked
"AA, He's Billy. He's a chronic alcoholic. He's OK."
"OH" they replied. Not a lot you can say to that. "We've called an ambulance. it will be here shortly."
"OK, well done girls. Don't worry."
I tried to rouse Billy but he was totally gone. People stopped to offer help. A first aider said, 'does he need CPR'. That was brave considering the bits of puke on Billy's beard. It was actually really life affirming with so many people offering to help another. Rather touching really.
I stayed with Billy for a bit, then a police officer came and they waited for the ambulance. I retreated back to the coffee shop. It was quite a spectacle.
I left with a defining feeling of sadness. Of powerlessness. I'd like to do more to help. But What can I do? I played the tape forward. Billy will get taken to hospital. He will require specialist Detox otherwise he would die of convulsions. The poor guy is chronic. It is not a choice, He is a bad case.
How much will all that treatment cost? £2,000? Then he will be chucked back on the streets only for the process to repeat itself again and again until poor Billy will be no-more. That is essentially the process my Father followed until he died aged 64.
Alcoholics are durable bastards. Billy has had a hard life yet he was still hanging on. It was the only life he knew but you could see the pain on his face.
That is why alcoholism breaks my heart. People walked over him thinking 'tramp'. I walk over to him thinking 'alcoholic', which, amongst other things, leads to being a tramp. There but for the grace of God go I.
The estimate for the economy dealing with alcohol abuse is around £500 million a year. A conservative estimate of dealing with Billy's alcoholism would be £50,000-£100,000 over the period of years. Is it right therefore to abandon these people as hopeless cases?
That is what gets me going. Fires me up. Makes me want to do something. Awareness and education are not only crucial to individuals but to societies as a whole. I'm not sure if it's too late for Billy, but if there were systems in place so that he wouldn't be thrown back out on the streets after being patched up he'd be in with a better chance of finding some kind of recovery.
There are lots of schemes, tons of people, charities, volunteers, professionals doing good work. Of course you cannot help someone who cant help themselves, but at least we can recognise it as a huge social problem and attempt to find answers cant we?
Rant over. He also had a lovely Ted Baker V-neck jumper on. Puke stained of course but the man had nice threads.
I am a lucky boy.
God bless you Billy and Mike Evans
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
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