One of the wonderful things about growing older is that I care less and less what people think of me. This comes from two areas of my brain. One is the bit that has recognised I am basically a good person who doesn’t intentionally offend someone ….unless I intend to offend them!..rare but does happen usually to people being very horrible or totally insensitive. The other is…I arrived at a point where the child in me, who had made me ingratiate myself to people even if I didn’t like them, in a bid to be liked and loved, no longer dominates my way of relating to the world.
I don’t have to be liked and loved by everybody…obvious really. The shaky start in life that comes from being fostered for four years as a baby has given way to that lovely feeling of being loved by my friends and family. I don’t need to add to that although occasionally it happens due to a rare new friend popping into your life. How ridiculous that I seriously used to go out of my way to get people to like me who I really didn’t like. I analyse each new encounter still and recognise that I am polite to some very rude people but often that is about business more than anything else….as explained above..push me too far and I won’t hold back. But mostly I will.
The reason for that preamble is that I am thinking about ‘party’ times and how as a much younger person many of us will have woken the next day after over indulging and groaned, not just because of the headache but because of a vague blurred memory of having done something you shouldn’t have done or embarrassed ourselves terribly. Drink is a dangerous drug for loosening your inhibitions as we all know. Or I hope we do!
An example I’m not proud of happened at The Gabriel’s one time. I was friends with, and actually had a huge crush on Siobhan Gabriel daughter of Mike and Jaquey Gabriel two stunning singers on the Cheltenham folk scene. Siobhan was about a year or so older than me, drop dead gorgeous and had a fab voice too. I wanted to be her. I was probably about 15 and Mike and Jaquey were away but Kieron and Eamonn were there, the sons, and Siobhan of course. They decided to have a party. At that point we were still experimenting with drink. I remember saying to someone at Folkworks last week that we sometimes drank lager and blackcurrant in pubs when we were under age in the hopes that it didn’t look like alcohol should the police come in. Naieve or what! I also remember sampling rum and Black which was so disgustingly sweet there’s no way I’d drink it now along with my mothers favourite drink at the time Cinzano Bianco…Yuck….sugar in a glass. Aemon had a bottle of whisky. VAT 69. I have no idea if that existed or not but that’s what I remember . Then comes the embarrassing part which I’ll gloss over quickly….I passed out in the loo having at least managed to sit on it first..so yes…trousers round ankles etc etc I was found as I hadn’t managed to lock the door. My modesty was returned and someone put me to bed! (Due to the wonderful thing that is facebook I have just found out from Siobhan that she put me to bed…I don’t know whether I’m pleased or embarrassed that she remembers ha ha. Please actually. Sign of a good friend) I remember absolutely nothing about the evening other than that. The ridiculous thing the next morning was I woke quite early….. I am a bad sleeper anyway and alcohol just makes it worse….and I decided to walk home. I got dressed and looked at myself in the mirror and the thought that went through my brain – I remember it so vividly – was – god you look beautiful this morning!!!!!!! Obviously crushed clothes and blood shot eyes were a new form of beauty but what a weird thing to think…obviously my brain was still addled.
Anyway, I got home but I had to rest on a bench on the way and, as with all youth, I recovered disgustingly quickly. That experience made me very wary of getting ‘blue blazing blind drunk’ (spot the folk song quote) and also pretty much put me off whisky and spirits for life. If I ever touch whisky its good quality and I might have one but I rarely choose it. I like the occasional GnT and Aperol or campari spritz…again in small quantities. So, a lesson well learnt I hear you say. I have no doubt some of you will have had those ‘groan’ experiences and some may be a lot worse than mine.
In my more mature years it doesn’t mean I don’t get off my trolly from time to time but I am always amongst friends and never to the point where I can’t remember what has been done. This means, ironically, that I have very happy times where I have over imbibed and the rest of the time I go for sensible quantities in relation to my capacity and …..’usually’……stop. I also have a lot of time when I drink nothing at all.
I became conscious of the potential demon of drink on becoming first a semi professional and then professional musician. I saw quickly those who drank before, during and after gigs and rarely made a life long career of music because of it. Most professions do not involve you spending your working life in licensed premises so I swore, quite early on, that I would not become a slave to drink and certainly never be one of those who couldn’t get on stage unless they had had one. Always seemed like a rocky road to me. I’m still here to tell the tale so I must have got something right.
However one of my favourite over indulging memories was at Sidmouth about four years ago. The previous year I had had the diagnosis of a grade four tumour I had been through chemo etc etc…and I had lived. I also drank no alcohol for nearly a year. Along comes a night off at Sidmouth and I was staying with a delightful lady who I have been with every year since when I have been there. She likes gin as does my sister, who was also there, so I think we had two..then wine with dinner. Well I was already gone by then but we all decided we were going to go off to the step dance competition. I was supplied with a drink on arrival..can’t remember what it was ….who cares ha ha… and watched the proceedings through very bleary eyes. I loved it. I really loved it. It was joyous the music was happy and all was well with the world and I was happy and to some degree celebrating my survival. I loved it so much that I decided to join in. May I say at this point that this was not, as far as I am aware aware, an audience participation event. Also, I had never done step dancing in my life before but obviously thought I could and that I should. Up I leapt and capered about with great gusto and all I remember is a lot of smiling faces. My sister was watching out for me and got me home in one piece…well nearly. I slightly missed the door jam due to my top half travelling faster than my legs underneath and shouldered the wood with all my weight and momentum behind me and had a very large bruise the next day to prove it.
I did apologise to a few people the next day and basically got the same response…that I had been very funny and that I was the most delightful drunk!! Lucky me eh! Not the maudlin argumentative type happily. I view that as a post trauma euphoric celebration story that still makes me smile and I am happy to say many of those who witnessed it smile too.
So why did all that pop up. Well Folkworks of course, We had a delightful age range of tutors from 25 to 68…I am somewhere in between but was definitely the matriarch. There was such a lovely buzz this year that being in the bar and sessions at the end of the day was a pure pleasure. Participants like to see the tutors involved in the sessions but most previous times did not have that element of exuberance and joy that this one did. It was an absolute pleasure extending your tutorial duties in this way. Most nights I drank beer as it’s weak and the quantity quenches your thirst to a certain extent and I can’t drink loads of it because of the amount of fluid involved. It’s practical in case ‘party Jo’ decides to lose her off switch and imbibe too much. Never a good idea when you are teaching as you have to get up and teach the next day even if your participants are incapable of learning….I mean post too much in the bar for them too!
I had the most fab times. Very short on sleep but lots of inspiring joyous music and song and a clear head to do my job the next day…if a little light on sleep working on 5-6 hours a night. I always aimed to leave the sessions by midnight at the latest as it can still take me two hours to wind down and go to sleep. It was always gone midnight but not by much generally. This one night, just as I was about to leave at about midnight, I was offered a jaeger bomb and, sensibly in my mind, turned it down. Nancy remembered having one…turns out it was three…and I felt nice and smug the next day. The night after our youngest tutor Greg said…I really want to see you drink a Jägar Bomb. Well I’m a sucker for pleading eyes…pleading…not bleeding…and said Ok. It was Jägermeister with red bull. They sort of banged it on the table like a Harvey Wall Banger and then downed it in one. I followed suit and my immediate reaction was an almighty burp which took me and everyone else by surprise. It resulted in us all howling with laughter . My excuse….Jägermeister is a digestive made with herbs etc etc. Well my digestion was full of Folkworks …’Oh I can’t be eating again can I..three meals a day’ and beer and obviously needed sorting out. It had done it’s job. I even had a second. We laughed. Told stores and anecdotes, sang and then did all that again and continuously howled with laughter. By that part of the week I was so tired and we were having such a hoot in the bar that I couldn’t drag myself away until 2.30 so the red bull did not keep me awake hoorah…and I didn’t have my customary hour and a half staring at the ceiling. I just lay down and jerked awake when the alarm went off.
So there we are. In many ways I feel like this particular post should come with a health warning but you now what….I don’t encourage, condone or condemn …just have fun but look after yourselves and others.
Jo Freya’s Musings 