I had parked the car as far away from the shopping mall as possible, more with a view to getting some exercise walking to and from the supermarket than for any noble reason of social distancing.
Obviously, if the local constabulary had asked me what I was doing walking in isolation in a virtually empty shopping mall car park, I would have mumbled something through my face mask along the lines of ‘can’t be too careful about human interaction’ and hoped not to get thrown in jail for six months.
Walking back to my car, laden with toilet rolls, tins of baked beans and bars of Lindt chocolate, a very nice young man approached me and stopped at the recommended distance of two metres to address me.
‘I know you even behind that face mask,’ he said. ‘You’re the legendary disgraced racist columnist and I’ve followed your scribblings long enough to know that you like the odd sip of whisky and possibly even a gin and tonic perchance. How is the closure of bottle stores affecting your lockdown?’
Flattered at being recognized even behind my designer face mask and protective eyewear I told him that things were looking a bit dire at Chez Bullard when it came to liquid refreshment. The mampoer had been finished and I was down to my last bottle of Scotch and last two bottles of gin.
Special contacts
‘I guessed as much,’ he replied, ‘which is why I would like to be of assistance. We can’t run the risk of writer’s block striking you down before Covid-19 strikes you down, can we?’ He then winked and told me he had special contacts and that any amount of booze was available to the right people at an albeit slightly inflated price, preferably paid in cash. He could supply me with a case of gin, a case of whisky and he warmly recommended the KWV 20-year-old brandy on special at only R1 800 a bottle. If I needed any more, he would give me a contact number and we could make a plan.
Obviously I was interested, but I was a bit nervous about the new laws forbidding transporting liquor in my car during the lockdown. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured me, ‘that isn’t going to be a problem.’
Away from prying eyes
He suggested we drive our vehicles round the back of the now redundant car wash where we would be away from prying eyes. Once there, he opened the boot of his SUV and transferred the merchandise in sealed boxes to the back of my SUV. For a brief moment I had the feeling I might be getting ripped off and asked him if I could open one of the boxes to check the goods.
‘Be my guest,’ he said, apparently unconcerned at my casting of aspersions in his direction. I opened the whisky box and nestling there were twelve bottles of a well-known brand, their neck seals unbroken. ‘Sorry to be so suspicious,’ I said apologetically, ‘it’s just, well, you know, living in South Africa and all that.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he laughed. ‘I would have taken you for a lesser man if you hadn’t bothered to check the goods.’
I paid the money over in crisp Mandelas fresh from the ATM and added a small bonus as an incentive to stay in touch for any future transactions.
Panic set in
We bade each other farewell and, just as I was getting into my SUV, a police car screeched around the corner of the car wash and stopped next to us. Panic set in. ‘Hey, what the hell’s going on,’ I yelled at my benefactor. ‘Is this a sting?’
He grinned at me, highly amused at my terror. ‘No dude…this is your police escort home. I told you it wasn’t going to be a problem.’ And it was at this point that I awoke from my dream.
* * *
Over twenty years ago, I wrote a flippant column in a Sunday newspaper which started with the line, ‘Hello, my name is David and I’m an alcoholic.’ It followed one of those questionnaires which starts with the words ‘10 questions to find out if you are an alcoholic’. Apparently if you scored more than two yesses you were in the danger zone and if you scored more than 4 you were in George Best territory. The questions were suitably vague, such as ‘Have you ever felt remorse after drinking?’, ‘Do you turn to unsuitable companions when drinking?’ and ‘Do you drink alone and do you crave a drink at a certain time of day?’
Deterrent
Well, I suppose it depends on how you define remorse, but the odd blinding hangover has definitely been a deterrent for a few days. Do I turn to unsuitable companions when drinking? You bet I do, because anybody propping up a bar is going to qualify as an unsuitable companion to the puritanical prohibition set. I’ve even been known to go home with unsuitable drinking companions in the past just to ascertain how unsuitable they were.
Do I drink alone? What a damn fool question that is. Obviously I drink alone, because if nobody else wants a drink or they’re drinking softies, then why should I opt for a glass of water? And what’s the big deal about drinking alone anyway? Locking yourself in your hotel suite for three days and getting hammered on Bourbon, as some musical artists do, isn’t quite the same as pouring a generous measure of whisky and settling down to your lockdown jigsaw puzzle with a bit of Brahms playing in the background.
But it’s the bit about craving a drink at a certain time of day that really gets me. Since lockdown and the closure of liquor stores I have been craving a drink at all sorts of times of day. Maybe it’s the disorientation of not having a structured life any more or the fact that I don’t have to drive anywhere that’s doing it, but I have to admit that a couple of drinks lifts my gloom for a couple of hours, as I’m sure it does many other people’s. Despite scoring six out of ten on that questionnaire twenty years ago, I would never consider myself an alcoholic, but that’s what denial is all about apparently.
At my age I am quite happy to keep on imbibing, fully aware that my chances of having a stroke or dying of some dreadful malady are greatly increased by this terrible addiction.
Most sensible question
The one question missing from the questionnaire was ‘Do you drink because you like the taste?’ That would have been the most sensible question, and the answer is, yes, I like the taste. I really enjoy a good red wine with a meal and I love the taste of whisky and of gin. I also happen to like the slightly disconnected carefree feeling I get after one too many. During this unprecedented disaster I really need the brief release that alcohol provides.
Having endured a ‘dry’ January (foolish decision with hindsight), I know I can go without booze for long periods without any problem. But at the moment I would rather not, so, until the ‘prat in the hat’ lightens up a bit, I’m going to have to try and get back into that dream I had.
The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR
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