My motto and instruction to remove the thought of alcohol

Saturday morning part 1

Paul N
3 min readJul 5, 2020

The hi-fi continued to play the deep house music, somnolent and mournful in the wake of events that had unfolded a few hours previous. As quietly as I could, I padded over and pushed the power button and heard the reassuring click as the green power light went out and the system shut down.

My friend lay face down on the sofa fully clothed and snoring, handbag emptied in the floor. It looked like a crime scene. I played detective and tried to figure out what had happened. I surmised she must have been frantically searching for something and had lost patience and had simply turned the bag upside-down and emptied it out, then slept with the contents around her.

A metaphor for the evening perhaps? A desperate scramble to find meaning in one’s life, ending up with the emptying of all the tittle tattle and junk we hold in the side pockets of our minds for everyone to see.

I knew her morning would be painful, I wondered what could have happened in the final hours in the depths of the night. I was grateful I detached myself before the night deteriorated into a squabbling mess.

I covered her gently with a blanket, removed her shoes and turned off the light.

Like most things where alcohol is involved… The evening had started brightly with spirits high and the Friday feeling fully invoked. The week had been a tough one, as the continuation of lockdown exerted its subliminal pressure on the country yearning to enjoy life once again. Like a lid on a pot of boiling water, steam needs to escape somehow.

So, my friends had started in style quaffing champagne like there was no tomorrow before dialing down with that sparkling Italian upstart — prosecco. Its flirty bubbles helping keep people afloat and the conversation light and humorous.

It was only when white wine entered the fray that things started to turn. Like an elegant villain lurking in the corner of the fridge, waiting for the moment to impose its will on proceedings, capitalizing on half-empty stomachs to wreak havoc and lead the evening into shambolic incoherence.

A dark cloud began to settle over the evening, as the alcohol started to un-knot inhibitions and unleash the ‘drunken honesty’ section of the night. A discombobulated confessional that is usually…

Paul N

All about dreams, and the unlocked emotional brain.