Street Drinking

Street Drinking
Growing up as a boy a common site was the street furniture of benches that punctuate most British towns. Usually positioned to view the comings and goings of the community out in the streets often near grass verges. Parks of course had many positioned for the walker, the thinker to pause for a rest. The ubiquitous joke of the tramp asleep was less common than in truth. Real omelet so and hedge monkeys generally seek privacy, not the stage. Street drinking was common and seen as an activity for those who had fallen through societies net. In truth, many chose not to work. Groups of derelict men, others who had seen through societies superficial fixation with presentation. These men would share bottles of sherry, dressed in rags, sporting unkempt hair and beards.
New Labour banned street drinking and these gentlemen and some ladies were forced indoors. The introduction of twenty four hour licensing led to binge drinking. Young men fighting in town centres, hardly dressed girls unable to walk, rolling in their own vomit. It was always clear to me that the heroin addict, interested in the sensation of the self, a uncommunicative pass time spent time sorting out their wears then returned indoors to stare at TVs or wall paper. But part of the street drinking culture was to be outdoors, in all weathers, talking.
This tradition stretches back to Ancient Greece. Not only was it a mans duty to developed political and philosophical opinion but also to go out into the marketplace and express their thoughts. Socrates, Plato, hypocrites, would gather together in large groups debating the bigger questions. Politics, current events, philosophy would all be discussed as wine was passed round. Little work got done and women may well see the parallels with the pub lost working class father of the early to mid twentieth century.
Jesus Christ abandoned woodwork to spread the word with his ragged apostles, homeless and prostitutes. His message was one of a spiritual, none materialist outlook where the meek would find sufficient to get by.
This tradition of the groups of ragged men in discussion on the meaning of life was tolerated. Arguably their choice was dieting off as the materialism of the sixties and seventies grew but it took till the nineties before our benches sat idle. Street furniture, lost of purpose. Increases in cheap alcohol prices drove another nail into the choice of the short, work free, philosophical alcoholic life. We must take part in societies rat race. To opt out to observe became frowned upon.
Yet in an ironic twist of fate, the polish worker has reinvigorated this noble intellectual herritage. Polish shops sell strong lager at a pound a can. Small groups of men, unable to pay pub prices have begun to appear. In church yards, hidden corners, parkland edges. Discussing the finer questions of life. These unthreatening men seldom get drunk, just enjoy a can or two. Hopefully, these young men can reinvigorate our dieting street drinking culture.


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