I am very anxious about binge drinking.
Apparently, if you consume more than five units of alcohol in an evening then you are called a ‘binge drinker’.
This applies to me, but the ‘binge drinker’ label strikes me as ludicrous, as that amount seems perfectly normal and healthy, and most people would not recognise it as excessive. It is as unfair as branding somebody a ‘sex addict’ just because they masturbate more than five times in an evening.
I brought this up over dinner on Saturday, and our guests seemed embarrassed and upset. Perhaps they are secret binge drinkers. Or secret sex addicts. Either way it is troubling. I have always tried to be a responsible member of society and now I find that a mere dictionary definition has locked me into a Hogarthian downward spiral, destroying all self-respect and more than likely turning me into a delinquent and a purveyor of petty crime.
Truly I am just like that Pete Doherty from the Libertines pop group, with readers coming here every day perhaps to marvel at my creative brilliance, but really to see whether I have finally crashed and burnt after more than two and a half pints in the Village Pub.
Except that I have not shagged Kate Moss. Which if I’m honest is unlikely to happen (as she lives in London and I live in Norfolk.)
(Although there are trains every hour and I would be able to stay over if she wanted).