I have just got back from the Costa Brava, and my liver is crying out for a break. I have stumbled from one, booze induced, disaster to another, never quite sobbering up enough to get a grip.
I have not been waking up with any strange women, or dropping my pants in a sweaty night club. I have not been arrested by the Spanish Police for fighting, lewd behavior, or any other drink fuelled offence. I was not staying at a high rise development in Loret de Mar.
No, I have been on a villa holiday with my wife, two kids, and the culprits of my decent into the depths of decadence, yes, my parents.
Now, I thought I could drink, in fact I know I can drink, but next to my Mum and Dad I must seem like a tee totaler recoiling in disgust at their first taste of alcohol.
My parents (both in their 70,s) start the day, like most others with breakfast, nothing unusual there. However by the time breakfast is cleared away, it s time for "elevenses", this isnt a cup of tea, and a biscuit, no, its a can of Estrella Damn, and so the debauchary starts.
"Elevenses" leads into lunch, with more beer and wine, and after a siesta, more beer. This takes us through till about 5.00pm.
5.00pm is a horrible time of the day when your on holiday. The sun is just going down, yet its not 6.00pm, when you can make a start on the gin and tonic. This, however, was no deterance to my parents, who claimed that the hour time difference from the UK made it acceptable to start on the G n Ts at 5.00pm.
They were, of course, pulling the wool over everyones eyes, because the clocks in Spain are 1 hour ahead of the UK, so making 5.00pm in Spain actually 4.00pm in the UK, but we were all to slozzeled to question their reasoning.
By this time it became apparent that someone had to prepare an evening meal, and since Gordan Ramsey was not on holiday with us, it invariably fell to me.
The evening meal would consist, most nights, of a source of protein thrown into a pan with some oil to "pan fry". The remnants of the days wine drinking were then added, to give body.
Most occasions it worked pretty well, chicken and red wine, Coq au Vin. Beef mince and red wine, Bolognase. Monk fish tails and red wine, fu**ing disgusting.
Dinner was washed down with a couple more bottles of plonk, followed by coffee and a night cap.
Bed was usually around 11.00pm, which worked well, because, we had drunk the clock around.
The moral of the story is that if you are trying to cut back go on a club 18 to 30 holiday (age restrictions do apply), follow your football team into Europe, get tickets for Glastonbury, become a fully paid up member of the Barmy Army, go to a beer festival in Germany, go on a whisky trail in Scotland.
What ever you do dont ever, ever, ever go on holiday with anyone over 70. Not only will they drink you under the table, but they will laugh at you when you suggest that you might have a bit of a thick head in the morning.
I have not been waking up with any strange women, or dropping my pants in a sweaty night club. I have not been arrested by the Spanish Police for fighting, lewd behavior, or any other drink fuelled offence. I was not staying at a high rise development in Loret de Mar.
No, I have been on a villa holiday with my wife, two kids, and the culprits of my decent into the depths of decadence, yes, my parents.
Now, I thought I could drink, in fact I know I can drink, but next to my Mum and Dad I must seem like a tee totaler recoiling in disgust at their first taste of alcohol.
My parents (both in their 70,s) start the day, like most others with breakfast, nothing unusual there. However by the time breakfast is cleared away, it s time for "elevenses", this isnt a cup of tea, and a biscuit, no, its a can of Estrella Damn, and so the debauchary starts.
"Elevenses" leads into lunch, with more beer and wine, and after a siesta, more beer. This takes us through till about 5.00pm.
5.00pm is a horrible time of the day when your on holiday. The sun is just going down, yet its not 6.00pm, when you can make a start on the gin and tonic. This, however, was no deterance to my parents, who claimed that the hour time difference from the UK made it acceptable to start on the G n Ts at 5.00pm.
They were, of course, pulling the wool over everyones eyes, because the clocks in Spain are 1 hour ahead of the UK, so making 5.00pm in Spain actually 4.00pm in the UK, but we were all to slozzeled to question their reasoning.
By this time it became apparent that someone had to prepare an evening meal, and since Gordan Ramsey was not on holiday with us, it invariably fell to me.
The evening meal would consist, most nights, of a source of protein thrown into a pan with some oil to "pan fry". The remnants of the days wine drinking were then added, to give body.
Most occasions it worked pretty well, chicken and red wine, Coq au Vin. Beef mince and red wine, Bolognase. Monk fish tails and red wine, fu**ing disgusting.
Dinner was washed down with a couple more bottles of plonk, followed by coffee and a night cap.
Bed was usually around 11.00pm, which worked well, because, we had drunk the clock around.
The moral of the story is that if you are trying to cut back go on a club 18 to 30 holiday (age restrictions do apply), follow your football team into Europe, get tickets for Glastonbury, become a fully paid up member of the Barmy Army, go to a beer festival in Germany, go on a whisky trail in Scotland.
What ever you do dont ever, ever, ever go on holiday with anyone over 70. Not only will they drink you under the table, but they will laugh at you when you suggest that you might have a bit of a thick head in the morning.
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