With my troubled bonce laid on pillow, a soundscape of incidental Cuban music from US drama Dexter, flashing lights from the TV broadcast producing kaleidoscopic flashes on the ceiling, last night my least ‘rock and roll’ Friday evening for a while played out in front of me.
Actually, who am I kidding!….. It’s bloody years since I’ve experienced a Friday evening which’d get anywhere close to being labelled ‘rock and roll’….. In fact, if truth be told, if gauging events with how hardcore partygoers behave, it’d be accurate to say (even in younger years) I’ve never been embroiled in a truly debauched ‘rock and roll’ evening.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a drink as much as anyone; and have several instances of excessive inebriation etched within the ‘Unfortunate Incident’s’ section of my chequered resume.
However in middle age I ordinarily adhere to a set of parameters which tend to stop me ‘topping up’ further upon realisation I’d sampled enough grape or grain juice. A strategy meaning these days I’m rarely severely incapacitated by alcohol; or hungover the following day.
I merely have frequent top ups, allowing me to venture to a plateau of mind serenity….. A wonderful softly lit place where inhibitions are discarded and singing of The Beatles back catalogue is compulsory; irrespective of how out of tune or incorrectly sung the lyrics….. The latter having to be undertaken whether in the company of others, or if spending the evening in isolation.
That being said, yesterday (Friday) evening I couldn’t even be bothered to visit life on planet serenity. The cork in the half bottle of wine I took up to my office/bedroom remaining securely fixed in the vessels neck. Instead, I chose to drift in and out of slumber to the backdrop of a serial killer’s escapades on TV.
This snoozing not the golden type of which Paul McCartney writes in his song Golden Slumbers, from the Abbey Road album. His visions the refreshing sleep which fill your eyes, awaking you with a smile when you rise…… No, this the troubled kip of a man currently disenchanted with his lot; who on that particular eventide lacked his usual motivation to attain catharsis from a ‘go to’ couple of glasses of sauvignon blanc.
The physical benefits from alcohol abstinence clearly not a bad thing. Yet a path followed which deprived a tortured mind comfort desperately sought from a 12% proof infusion of calm.
Not that I should use alcohol as a crutch. As I found recently after straining my lateral knee ligament (an injury which still hasn’t fully recovered six weeks on) a crutch is the best thing to use as a crutch. A bottle of vino, no matter how big, isn’t fit for purpose as either a mobility aid or for long term mental wellbeing.
The song which succeeds Golden Slumbers on The Beatles Abbey Road album is a refrain titled Carry That Weight. This follow up, although not written about a carer of a dementia sufferer, I’d suggest relates to anybody who’re struggling mentally during troubled times.
The following McCartney lyrics describing our punishment for being born sick, commanded to be well?….. Is that right Father McKenzie?……
“Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time
Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time”