In praise of drunkenness

Europe, I’m told, is entering the age of the ‘sober-curious’. Curiosity is a wonderful thing; why, then, did hearing this make me want to drink whisky until I talk in tongues and pass out? I’ve had such a long and varied relationship with alcohol since we met when I was a shy provincial child. It’s been my naughty secret (12-16), partner in crime (twenties), dangerous obsession (thirties/forties), toxic bestie (fifties) – until, somehow, now I’m almost 64, it’s ended up as casual restaurant date, always welcome but never needed. I’ve done some dumb things on alcohol, but I’ll always believe that it gave me more than it took from me. Because of this, I feel defensive of it when I hear people dissing it.

A warning has been issued by the French Vin et Société claiming that wine consumption in France is set to drop 60 per cent over the next ten years, after falling from an average of 120 litres a person a year in 1960 to 40 litres in 2020. This is predicted to lead to ‘massive and historic’ cuts in the wine sector, which employs half a million people.

That makes me sad. It was always such a comfort to know that French children were quaffing the Côtes-du-Rhône when we were still knocking back Ribena.

The French like to mock us for our binge-drinking but it wasn’t until 1956 that the serving of alcoholic drinks in French schools to children under 14 was banned; and only in 1981 was the sale of alcoholic drinks in schools banned completely. French kids were apparently encouraged to drink wine in school canteens thanks to the belief that it kept disease at bay. Parents often added half a litre of wine to schoolbags, or so I heard.