What the fuck is going on with people who point at musicians?
Last night, I was out enjoying a quiet few civilised pints with friends, so we went to Nancy Blake’s hospitable hostelry where the usual Gonzo outfit were flexing their instruments. It was all fine, good, cool and gemütlich, but what the fuck was going on with the crazed, uncoordinated woman standing in front of the band, swaying and pointing?
You know that I’m-in-charge, smug smile, and the weather-forecaster pointy-finger thing? You there!! Drummer!! Play!!
Now, as regular readers will know, I’m far too polite to approach such a person and ask them what they think they’re doing. It’s none of my business, but I still cringe for them, partly out of a sense of empathy and partly because I know, in my heart of, eh, hearts, that I probably was that soldier myself, and in all likelihood will be again, perhaps before too long.
We don’t get any better, do we? As we grow older, we really don’t learn a damn thing. We just look worse while we make fools of ourselves. I was at a social gathering recently where a person I know slightly was trying to impress the other guests.
I’m a wine connoisseur, he informed one of the women, drunkenly.
You are in your arse, she replied calmly. You’re just a chronic alcoholic.
And so it goes. That’s what drink and a party feeling will do to you, but what happens when you combine it all with terminal stupidity? What happens then?
What happens when you are a complete, blithering fuckwit, and drunk as well? What then?
Well, then, you’re fucked.
I could name nine fuckwits right now, off the top of my head without having to think at all. Utter fools who get fourteen times worse when drunk, and it’s not that they should give up drink, because that won’t work. They should just give up living before we all rise up as one and fucking kill them.
Some people are fine when they’re drunk, and that’s because drink doesn’t change the fundamental personality. It pisses me off when I hear that kind of excuse.
Oh, I was drunk.
Really? Does that mean you’re not an absolute knob-head when you’re sober?
They say it all the time in court, after some scobe has been convicted of his 95th offence. Well, judge, perhaps I could ask the court to take into account his difficult upbringing, and the fact that he has a drink problem.
A drink problem? That’s all right then. Now I can see why he beat up that old woman. He was drunk. Imagine going into the court on a speeding charge. Well, Judge, you see, the only reason he was driving at 150 mph is that he was drunk out of his head.
Right. That has to work, doesn’t it?
A tosser is a tosser, drunk or sober. I don’t swallow this crap about drink, because I know what drunk means. Every time I’ve ever made a tool of myself due to alcohol, it was because deep inside I was getting in touch with my inner gobshite. There’s no excuse. No way out: it wasn’t the drink. It was me.
In vino veritas.