It is the end of a rather warm New South Welsh day and I am relaxing on the sofa with a computer on my lap and an ice cold within easy reach.
I stopped at the bottlo (off licence) because I felt as though a coldie would be the perfect way to end the day and bought myself a 6 pack. The thing is, I was surprised to note that it felt really naughty!!
It’s funny isn’t it? The things that hound you from your childhood … Alcohol never manifested in our home until I had left school and even then, the only bottles we had secreted in the pantry were the occasional bottle of dodgy plonk that had been given us by houseguests which I distinctly remember included a bottle of sake in the cupboard for years before it got tossed out or used as bbq fuel!
I presume Maw and Paw were teetotal for no other reason than being fairly staunch Methodists, though by the time I was old enough to notice their stance on alcoholic beverages we had moved to the more ‘liberal’ Baptist church … I don’t even remember any diatribes about the evil of ‘the drink’ but for it to still affect me now it must have been imparted somehow even if in a subtle fashion…
Since then I have belonged to a church that actualy owned a pub for a while (until they converted it into their new premises) and have even been know to overindulge at rare intervals… and currently go to a church where alcohol is a personal choice and (in moderation) not frowned upon at all!
So why after all this time does that sneaky little voice at my shoulder say “tut… tut… tut… who’s a wicked girl then?”