The Pub With No Beer

I've always thought there was no such place as 'The Pub With No Beer'. I thought it was an urban legend that someone cooked up to scare Aussie blokes all around our sunburnt land, where a hard-earned thirst can only be quenched by an ice cold beer.

Sure, it could be argued that the humble pub originated as a meetinghouse for the community, a place to converse with your fellow man, not a place to get off your head. So if by some freak occurrence the pub ran out of beer and punters had to forgo a frothie (or whatever your favourite tipple is), would it really be such a devastating event?

The answer, quite simply, is yes.

For those people that don't drink beer or alcohol (and I mean people who pass on alcohol because they don't enjoy the taste, effects etc, not problem drinkers who have given it up because it interferes with their life), let me put it this way to you. To a drinker, a pub with no beer is akin to Christmas without presents or Easter without chocolate - a very sad occasion indeed that has had all the magic sucked out of it.

Last weekend I visited the pub with no beer. All the other patrons were ordering pints of amber ale or chilled glasses of pinot gris - so refreshing on a 40 plus degree day. But for me, the pub was dry. The beer on tap had stopped flowing, the corks remained in the bottles, the spirits sat stiffly on the shelf. It was as if I was a ghost, unseen by the publican, instead of a paying customer with a need to wet their whistle with the good stuff.

I'd be lying if I said I'm finding the transition from drinker to non-drinker easy the second time round. The first booze-free nine months I spent last year were a breeze because I was single, living with my Dad and totally consumed by writing and finding the zen within. But this time round, I'm distracted by the dazzling bright lights of my future. I am in love with the most amazing person and the temptation to drink with him is constant. Especially when hanging out with his friends. A drink or two would help to lubricate my social tongue, take the edge off, reduce my anxiety, help me to relax enough to let my personality and sense of humour shine. But I can't drink. It's not worth it.

Back to the pub. So considering I had to be content with a lemon, lime and bitters, I remembered that there was actually something else I loved about pubs which didn't involve alcohol. The chicken parma. Surely, eating a delicious parma would be just as exciting and satisfying as drinking a Coopers Pale Ale?

I eagerly took the first bite but was immediately disappointed. The chicken was dry in parts, the gloopy cheese on top was a cheap variation to mozzarella, the pasatta was sour and manufactured. The salad flopped in an awkward basket on the plate was smothered on top with squeeze bottle dressing instead of tossed through the salad. On the bright side, the crinkle cut chips were pretty good.

Noticing the disapproval on my face, my boyfriend asked me what I thought of my parma.

"I'd give it two out of five," I said.

"Really?" What do you think's missing?" he asked.

"The beer," I answered without missing a beat. Then I laughed because I wasn't joking. "What would you give yours?"

"Three out of five" he said.

"That's because you're drinking a beer," I responded.

His rating was understandable. He hasn't visited the pub with no beer yet...

Un-Australian

Our PM - 100% Australian

I'm Un-Australian. I didn't drink yesterday to celebrate Australia Day. I don't like cricket. When I'm watching the tennis, I don't barrack for someone just because they are Aussie. I barrack for the player I like the most.

I'm totally Un-Australian and I'm proud of it.

Why? Because if I'm Un-Australian, it means that I am something other than fitting a subjective psychological mould of what's right and wrong. What's good and bad. What's patriotic and what's not. What is so bad about not being Australian anyway? 

I find the term Un-Australian utterly racist. It implies that any behaviour that is not classified 'Australian' must be bad, shameful, wrong. Therefore, not being Australian is bad, shameful and wrong. You can come to our shores (by plane, not by boat) but you better start eating Vegemite and choose a footy team before you get through customs.

I can't believe that the term is used so loosely and bandied about all the time on TV by presenters. Don't people realise how racist it is? When Americans claim to be the greatest country in the world, don't we as Australians recoil in horror at their arrogance and their ignorance? When we hear the Poms declare to be the best nation in the world due to their class and heritage, don't we shake our heads and think 'that's bullshit, I've seen Ladette to Lady!'

So why do we think it's ok to judge our behaviour by its Australianness? Isn't that just the same as claiming to be the best country in the world, in fact isn't it even worse because its not just about geography, wealth and opportunity, but down to character traits and birthright. It's not just alienating the rest of the world, its alienating those people living in Australia who are not Australian by birth or citizenship or who are Australian but don't fit the status quo.

As a kid I always felt ashamed to be Australian. I craved the culture I believed was lacking in Australia. I was more interested in artistic pursuits like writing and music. I hated football and all sport in general. I wished I had been born to migrant parents; I wanted to have Italian or Greek or Indian blood like half of my classmates at school. They had history, architecture, tradition, food and exotic language. Whilst most of these kids might have been secretly wishing they had Aussie parents, little did they know that the pasty white skinned kid sitting in the shade, desperately wanted even just a teaspoon of that difference. That Un-Australianness.

Then in my twenties I went backpacking and lived in the UK for a couple of years. I decided that being Aussie was a good thing after all. We had a good reputation when travelling (at least we did ten years ago), the cost of living was affordable, we had little conflict internally or from external threats and Melbourne was starting to become a global city in its own right. I felt blessed when I returned from my stint in grey, dreary England.

So I loosened up. Started to accept all facets of being Australian. The larrikin, the bogan, the underdog. Hell, I even chose a footy team and started watching the Aussie Open every January. I embraced our culture. We like a beer. We like a derogatory joke. We like new cuisines. We'll accept new races into our fold but not until we've put you through the wringer and you've populated our cities with an Australian-born generation or two. Then you're ok. Then we'll not only eat your food, we'll learn how to cook it and share a table with you. As long as you don't mind us calling you a wog. As a joke of course.

But now, having ditched the booze and spent a dry Aussie day, not playing cricket but instead eating pannetone with some Italians, I'm reconsidering my stance on being Aussie. I'm not proud of our treatment of refuges, I'm not proud of a culture that makes me feel bad for being sober and not joining in sports, I'm not proud of a culture that only accepts difference once it can pick it apart, eat the good bits of meat off the bone and then throw away the gristle.

And that's why I'm proud to be Un-Australian.

2014 Australian Women Writers Challenge

This year I pledge to read and review at least four books written by female Aussie authors. This puts me in the Stella category.

Check out the website here for more info or to join yourself.

Sober As A Judge

Happy New Year everybody!

I love this time of year. I love making New Year resolutions and all the promise of potential that the New Year holds. And going into 2014 is particularly exciting for me as I embark on a new chapter with my amazing man.

And I have finalised my contract with alcohol, deciding to give it up entirely. Although it's hard to comprehend NEVER drinking again, I think it's the only way to keep my sanity intact.

Recent festivities have reminded me of why I decided to stop drinking in the first place. The two main reasons are:

1 - I'm a bit of a douchebag when I drink
2 - My anxiety skyrockets in the days following drinking

I probably didn't emphasise the second point enough in previous posts but alcohol relaxes me in the short-term and then increases my anxiety following a drinking session. And the amount I drink doesn't really matter because I can't avoid feeling anxious by limiting my consumption. For example, I can have a couple of drinks and feel shit for two or three days, or drink a truckload and be anxious for the next seven days.

So I decided a few weeks ago to stop drinking again and I have just experienced my first sober Christmas and New Year's Eve since I was a teenager. And on the whole, it was no big deal. Christmas was a bit hard because let's face it, Christmas is a stressful occasion. Family dynamics, emotions and lots of red wine consumed by your loved ones, can make things a bit tense. And when you can't have a drink yourself to take the edge off, its hard to relax and enjoy the day. But I resisted the urge to drink.

And last night was New Year's Eve. Which was a lot easier than Christmas Day. My boyfriend and I spent the night at my sister and bro-in-law's place. It was a very tame night. We had a BBQ and managed to keep awake till midnight to watch the crappy ABC countdown. My sister (who is also a non-drinker) and I got stuck into a variety of non-alcoholic beverages including soda water with lime, blood orange mineral water and bitter lemonade. Scrumptious!

So now I'm proud to say that I'll be sailing into the New Year as a confident sobertarian. Awake, aware, switched on and still up for a good time... if the company is right.

Back on the Horse

So I lasted 9 months and 1 day without drinking. The first 9 months were easy. The last 24 hours were agony. All of a sudden, on Melbourne Cup Day, I just really wanted a drink.

There may be a few reasons for this but the one I like to focus on, is that I'm happy. I met a boy. A wonderful, amazing, caring, smart, sexy man. And my desire to drink, to socialise, to have a beer or a wine just because I feel like it, returned.

And as my sexy man said to me, "You're just changing your relationship with alcohol". Did I mention that he is wise too? This statement is so correct. When I stopped drinking earlier this year, it was through shame. Shame at my behaviour when drunk, shame at the self-inflicted abuse of my body, shame at my self-destructive patterns that I carried all through my twenties (and allowed me to nurture a melancholy safety-net of negative self-talk that I would never be good enough to follow my dreams.)

And this shame made me scared to ever have another drink again. After I stopped drinking, I had dreams every night for months on end, that I got drunk either intentionally, accidentally or I was drugged by someone else. And each time I woke up, I was sooo relieved that I hadn't had a drink. I had a fear, a phobia almost, about what would happen if I drank. Not so much about losing control but more about being disappointed in myself. About regret and not living up to my own high standards, even though I couldn't really articulate what they were.

But on Cup Day, that fear took a backseat, when all of a sudden at my brothers house, nervous and happy after introducing my family to my beautiful boy, I decided to have a drink. To calm my nerves. To celebrate. To relax. To socialise. To live a little.

I drank lots of water. I only drank a little bit because I was driving anyway. And I felt great. So happy. And the next day, not a skerrick of a hangover.

Fast forward to last Saturday night. Celebrating my friend's 40th birthday, I had a few drinks. Not many. Two beers and four modest glasses of red wine. Again, I drank quite a lot of water. But for the next two days I had a hangover. That red wine in your veins, heavy limbed, dull headache and general blah feeling. After hardly drinking anything and eating a big wedge of pork belly for dinner! Surely the pig blubber would've soaked up any nasty hangover-producing molecules!

So that's where I'm at now friends. Two drinking experiences under my belt, one positive, the other less so and a gorgeous new boyfriend who helps me to articulate what I'm feeling. And now, with no sense of shame or fear, I know that I am merely drawing up a new contract with booze. A pre-nup if you will. For the first time in my life, I am renegotiating my relationship with alcohol in a refreshingly sober fashion.

Why I Write

I write because I need to put words on the page. Because it is the truest form of expression for me. When I write, I can confidently articulate exactly what I want to say. Some people say that if they had to make a choice between reading or writing, they would pick reading. But although I have a thirst for knowledge that drives me constantly, I would chose writing. Not because I think that I have anything particularly interesting or important to say but if I didn't let myself write when I got the burning desire, I would go insane. Die a thousand deaths. Drink myself to oblivion. End up in a psych ward. Lie in the gutter, mumbling incomprehensible sentences at the people stepping over me. I write because it's the only thing that makes life have purpose for me. It is my spiritual path and now that my soul has aligned with it, there's no turning back.

It's Been Awhile...

Blogging is an interesting beast. A bit like Facebook, I only tend to publish my thoughts online when I'm feeling positive or if not positive, at least objective about my state of mind.

Hence, it's been awhile since my last post but since it's now October and I totally skipped August and September, I thought I better check into cyberspace and blog to all the unknown readers out there...

So I'm currently unemployed (week 3 of being a bum) and I have to admit - I'm loving it! It's just soooooo nice to take it easy for a change. I woke up this morning (just before 9am, sorry I have to rub it in!) and my first thought was, thank god I don't have a job to go to today. I'm not sure if this is a bad sign? Could I possibly turn into a dole bludger? Or a nicer term unpublished author? It sounds so good doesn't it?

Anyway, I started off my work hiatus with a trip to Vanuatu a couple of weeks ago. It was a lovely, last-minute holiday. I was invited by one of my writer buddies (who I met in Fiji earlier this year.) She is a very generous, welcoming lady and seeing me at a loose end after finishing my banking job (woohoo! did I mention WOOHOO!), she invited me along to gatecrash her south pacific holiday along with her husband and some of her old high school friends.

They were an entertaining bunch and knew how to party, free from the shackles of their teenage offspring. Beer o'clock came around early each day, as it tends to on holiday, and it wasn't long before they were including me in their 'in-jokes'. After slapping loudly down the stairs one day in my thongs, I was nicknamed 'slapper' from then on in!

Port Vila (Vanuatu) has some magnificent scenery. Beautiful crystal clear lagoons, waterfalls, bays and beaches. It really is paradise on earth. The group had already been to Vanuatu a couple of years ago and they were amazed at how much progress has been made with building and infrastructure. A lot of foreign aid has been put to good use in Port Vila, with new smooth roads being donated by America. Also, alot of young people are seizing the opportunity to travel to Australia and do some agricultural work in Northern Queensland, signing contracts for 5 years of guaranteed work. 

We had a great driver, Mac (or Mike or Mark, we couldn't quite work it out with his accent!) who showed us around the island, introduced us to his new bride and told us about his plans to travel to Australia next year for fruit-picking. Mac is 23 and his new bride Sylvie is 21 and they are both signed up to a 5 year contract, consisting of 5 months hard labour, 2 months off to go home to Port Vila, then 5 months on again. For each 5 month stint, they will earn AUD$20,000 which is a hell of a lot of money to them. If they work hard and save all their money, they will make $200,000 by the end of 5 years, and then be ready to build a house and start a family.

Vanuatu is a kaleidoscope of beauty as I said, but flip a coin and you will see what appears to be extreme poverty. Most roads are full of potholes, mangy stray dogs litter the streets and the cost of food and groceries is very expensive. The only reasonably priced commodity seems to be the public transport, in particular the bus service. In Port Vila, buses are normally minivans that are identified by the letter B in the number plate and taxis can be cars or vans, identified by the letter T.

The standard bus fare is 150 Vatu or AUD$1.50 to get around the city centre and buses run all day until around 10pm or so. You don't have to wait at a bus stop (there aren't any) and there is no timetable to follow. You simply stand on the street and wave down a bus, the same as you would with a taxi. If the bus has room, it will stop and pick you up to take you wherever you want to go. This makes getting around very affordable and convenient, whether you are a local or a tourist.

Tourism is the biggest money earner in Vanuatu. The locals are very accommodating, friendly and polite. You get the feeling that the tourist is king in Vanuatu. For example, they sell fireworks in their bargain shops, however it is illegal for Vanuatuans to set them off. But it's fine for tourists to do this. I wonder how these double-standards make the locals feel behind their courteous smiles...

Well I better get off to bed now. I have a 6am yoga class in the morning. I've decided to have a productive day tomorrow for a change! Adios amigos!!!