Growing up in the seventies and eighties a common sight would be groups of derelict men passing round sherry bottles. These philosophers who rejected work in favour of watching the world go by, engaged in existential discussion. All towns had there pockets and many were locally known by the residents of the area and generally they caused little harm. Occasionally if disagreement over some fine political point arose passions could arise and a little pushing and shoving, a little shouting to emphasise the point annoyed local non intellectuals.
Steadily street drinking moved on to the super strength European lagers. Special brew it has been suggested by bill Drummond was adopted by the street drinker with a more European, expansive outlook whilst those who 'sucked from the purple tin' drank the traditional tenants super strength were somehow more entrenched in their homeland. His piece that features in his great work 45 is written from a Scottish perspective. It culminates in a sort of failure to give away a square meter of tennants supercans. The factor he had overlooked was that the homeless alocoholics are spread homogenously across the city of london. Drummonds vision of a large gathering of the street philosophers in some kind of millenial festival failed to materialise. A few took what they could carrybut no satisfactory 'happening' , no moment of glory. The idea was beautiful and brilliant and its failure could perhaps have warned him of the lack lustre response to his burning of a million quid. Jim Cauty and in a different way, bill drummond are brilliant artists. Perhaps the best of our day. Whether they get upset at the publics failure to embrace their enterprises must hurt. One can ignore lack of success when your water colours fail to light up the world but when your medium targetted so clearly at the artworld, their rejection must have caused a little heartcahe. but i love them, and still keep an eye on what they are up to. Still great ideas. Particularky Cauty. his recent city overtaken by police compared to the chapman brothers 'Hell' and 'FuckingHell' , the nearest obvious contemporary paralel, Cautys wins hands down for me.
Most English street drinkers give little thought to its origin, Scottish and Newcastle breweries, and habit or price are of greater influence. There are now a plethora of super strength lagers, from skol super to kestrel yet special brew remains the symbolic emblem despite its relatively high price. During the eighties when the traveller aligned themselves with the tramp the special brew can became the proud standards of the new ager. To be seen holding a can was akin to the African child in countries such as morocco and Gambia who I have seen buy a can of coca cola and make it last for days so as to be seen as connected to the western world. Its sybolism outweighed any other system of judgement. Perhaps it outweighs its value as a drink here too its just im so jaded i can no longer see truth in my own culture. On some traveller sites carrying a especial brew can was sufficient to be accepted. Like smoking a spliff. All cultures have their secret signs and codes.
It must have been the late nineties when street drinking became illegal. The small bands of park bench tipplers, wanting nothing more than to discuss the politics of the day were moved on by police. No street drinking signs began to appear on street furniture. People enjoying a picnic and bottle of wine in the park could find themselves picked and nicked.
Around the same time new labour introduced twenty four hour drinking. Pubs had once closed at half two serving, kick out three, open again at fiveish. The drinkers of course drifted to the parks and benches. New labour had some lunatic idea that if we british were able to drink out all day and night we would naturally fall in to the European model of slow wine drinking with ones meal. Or leisurely stretched out tapas evenings.
Of course the British, as anyone who has even casually taken an interest in European football competitions knows, we can't, nor want to hold our beer. Visions of chanting gangs hurling plastic chairs and glasses at each other before steaming in to wobbly fights whilst half naked women drop their knickers and the streets and rivers of urine flood the gutter.
The phenomena I was inspired by is the polish habit of small groups of men, meeting up in quiet spots to drink polish lager. Polish lager, for me, was a great discovery during my drinking days. Odd brackets empty in our culture such as 6.5 and 7.2% alcohol content, often hidden in tiny print. A whole new category of product to learn with a deep and old culture. When our local polish shop opened I'd spend a good half hour studying before I bought. Dark lagers, blonde beers, strong beers, weaker beers. And cheap too. A few freinds took an interest and we explored. Now, as a largely poor drinker, I seldom have more than two. Somewhere I lost that fire in my belly where oblivion was always sought. I don't know where it went. I bought in to the AA idea that once an alcoholic, never drink again. In fact I'll go further. This obsession with alcoholism. Quite innocent people who drink as little as a half bottle of wine are accused of mental illness. Some people function quite well on large amounts. I did hit a point where a two year break was required but I ca pn enjoy a pint without danger of unleashing some sort of werewolf. The obsession with health is destroying the NHS. People living in to their nineties, talking nonsense, we are having to import poor beautiful polish girls to wipe their bottoms. I've nowt against a long life if you are still able to be talked to as an adult but once people begin having to talk as if to a three year old, well, its time for Dignitas. We need to evolve for christs sake. Where's the sense in life sacred beyond all reason? Kill me when I start talking shite.
These polish lads who gather in churchyards, ginnels, the hidden spots of our edge lands can look intimidating. Like a group of British 70s boot boys. This is a mistake. They could, however do with a lesson about litter. Often after their evenings of discussion the wide variety of polish titled cans are left on the floor. This Rennaisance in street drinking can be nothing but a good thing. I have noticed the spots they choose are places police don't go. Whether police intervene as they surely would if English boys were on the piss but then the trouble likely to follow would be much greater. Perhaps the police are as yet unaware in the street drinking Rennaisance, of provide cultural dispensation I know not. To my thinking, bar the litter, this is a good thing. The Eastern European integration is a strange one. Excellent blenders the poles. And if this many English teen and early twenties boys moved over in a town the size of frome in Poland we'd have rioted, waved flags and generally demonstrated our aresholehood. All power to the polish street drinker.
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