Posts Tagged ‘drunk’

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paralysis.

July 12, 2010

This weekend was lovely for me.  I went to London to see Toby’s new place and also to spend some time with Nana, one of my closest friends from my time at Oxford.  I was due to be in London the following weekend (now this coming weekend) anyway as me and Toby are going to the Surrey University Grad Ball, but Nana texted me asking whether I was free and she needed to talk.  As it’s more than about time I went down to London (she’s come to visit me in Bristol a few times but between university, family and various other commitments I had never made it down), I decided to take a trip on the very cheap Megabus and spend a couple of days.  We had a really nice time eating, chilling, shopping (though I was restrained with spending money – my driving test is looming so it’s time to prioritise) and it was just great to catch up.  But anyway, that’s not what I’m writing about.

On the Friday night after we’d been for cocktails (Toby & Nana got on superbly, and they were able to talk about science while I smiled and vacated my brain and just looked pretty), Toby and I got the tube back to his.  We got off at Earls Court, and due to him not usually getting off at that station and it being vaguely confusing in the night-time, he ended up walking me slightly the wrong way.  We went down one road in particular, and in the entranceway to the first house on the road there was a man slumped, ostensibly asleep.  It was about 10:45 in the evening, he had a backpack still on his back, and he was strewn across the entrance to the house with one arm covering his face.  His clothes looked vaguely dirty (probably from the ground) but other than that I couldn’t tell much of his appearance, from my vantage point of being stood up.  In other words, it just looked like he’d had too much to drink and passed out.

Toby and I stopped, and Toby wondered if the guy was alright.  At this point, I urged Toby to just keep walking, as he was probably just drunk and would be fine. As the words came out of my mouth, I started to question myself: Why was I so eager to just carry on? What if something bad had happened to the guy? What if he needed someone to call the emergency services? And most of all, what was I so afraid of? I can’t deny that I felt a strong intuition to just keep walking and not get involved in something that was probably not a problem and certainly not my business. The media report and project so many stories about people who’ve wound up injured, hurt or worse by getting involved in other people’s tribulations when they were only trying to help.  But what if that man were me? What if I needed somebody to call for help on my behalf, and they just kept on walking?

The dilemma swirled in my mind even as I convinced Toby that we should just leave the guy and keep on walking. As luck would have it, Toby was using the GPS on his mobile and discovered we needed to walk back down the same road and take a different turning to get to his place, so we were due to end up passing the unconscious man again. To assuage my conscience, I said that if the guy looked like he was really in trouble, if we could see blood or signs of something dangerous (we had already noted that the guy didn’t appear to be bleeding, and seemed to be breathing ok), we would call the police. As we approached the entrance to the house again, we passed many other pedestrians on their way home / wherever, and none of them seemed to be the slightest bit concerned about the guy. At this point, I wondered whether I was just naïve: I’m from a decent-sized city but it’s not London, and things are different there. Perhaps it was even more commonplace than in Bristol, and perhaps they had judged it more dangerous to get involved than to keep walking.  Maybe they hadn’t even noticed. But the combination of other people’s lack of concern, the fact that a lot of the houses had lights on so it wasn’t as if the guy would be in danger nor did any of the occupants seem to be particularly bothered by his presence, and the fact that when we did pass him again, he didn’t seem to be in any distress or be injured (in other words, he did genuinely appear to be passed out asleep) meant that we didn’t call 999 but just went on our way.

I hope that he was alright in the end. I just can’t help but wonder if I did the right thing: obviously putting my own safety (and Toby’s) first is important. But at the same time, how much danger could a barely conscious man who was probably stinking drunk pose to us? Why did I feel an instinctual sense of alarm, and was I right to trust that instinct? I believe myself to be the kind of person who would help a person in need, but in this instance should I have done more? Or am I just being naïve and thinking about a commonplace incident far too much? Am I right in thinking that if nobody living on the road nor the other pedestrians walking past seemed to be alarmed, I didn’t need to be either? Is that just being realistic, or is it a dangerous blind eye to turn? I wonder what this says about me as a person, about us as an urban society, that we’re afraid of making a social blunder that could cost us our own personal safety, even when the situation probably is less dangerous than we fear and the person might need our help? Is the media to blame for hyping such incidents to the point that we are too afraid to help others for fear of the consequences that a misguided retaliation might mean for ourselves? I suppose the most telling thing is that if I could do it again, I would probably do exactly the same and play it safe for me and Toby. I just wonder if it was the right thing to do.

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h1

take off running.

April 4, 2010

Happy Easter everyone!  I am fast becoming a bit of a scrooge, dreading any kind of holiday because it means not that I will have to spend money (something that I have absolutely no trouble doing, as you should all know by now) but because there will be some form of family gathering. Today hasn’t been as bad as Christmas, because there are buses running and I have taken refuge in Starbucks after a quick dinner with my parents and grandmother – I’ve even accomplished some work (wonders never cease)!  But discussing my current relationship with my family yesterday with Davina and Frankie, and reminiscing over my historical experience of family gatherings with Hannah on msn earlier today, it’s not really a surprise that being in these kind of situations makes me uncomfortable.  So making a swift (but polite – I thanked my dad for a lovely Easter lunch and gave my nan an appreciative hug, promising that I would see her again soon) exit makes sense and allows me to preserve my own good mood and sanity.

When I was younger, every 27th December (roughly) we would drive up to London (or thereabouts) to see my father’s side of the family for a Christmas gathering.  The venue would rotate each year depending on who was hosting the gathering, and to be fair the food was nice enough and I don’t remember anyone being particularly nasty to me.  However, I do remember the competitive atmosphere between my father and his siblings – comparing families’ progress and ‘success’, wealth, partners and so on.  Being from Bristol, we were the “poor relations” in comparison with the other families who would pretend to be upper class right down to their accents, and my mother being Italian led to a sense of exclusion and some prodding jokes from certain members of the family (this is racism!).  Despite the fact that my father was largely absent during my childhood, and when he was there he was either drunk, argumentative and mentally / verbally abusive, or sleeping, my intelligence (which, much to their chagrin, undeniably outclassed all of my more “well-to-do” cousins – money doesn’t buy smarts, and I promise that in this case I’m not being up myself, it’s just the truth) and good traits were attributed to him rather than to my mother (who raised me more or less single-handed).  Because of this, and because of the fact that the other members of this family were largely self-absorbed to the point of being imbecilic, I didn’t really enjoy these yearly outings, because it seemed like a lot of chest-puffing and bravado for no real purpose.

My grandmother (the head of that side of the family, who seemed to portray herself as the Queen) died when I was 17. From the age of 17, we never had any more of those yearly gatherings. Nearly all of my father’s siblings’ marriages (and some of my cousins’ relationships) broke apart, one aunt declared she was a lesbian and moved her secret girlfriend in, and we never heard from them again.  In other words, all that competitiveness and fuckery had been for show, for my grandmother.  For what purpose, who knows? Interestingly, for all the dysfunction and stress in my family, we stayed together through thick and thin, and I had always got on better with my mother’s side of the family (though they are far from perfect), even though they were from another country – gasp!  But I’ve never tried to be anything I’m not, and that’s the same issue that drives me crazy now, but in a different way.

I can’t be an angel for my grandmother (the one who’s still alive, obv) – I never really was an angel, but I’ve gotten darker over the past year.  I’m 24 years old and I can’t be treated like I’m 12 by anyone – I am not on drugs, I don’t have an eating disorder or a gambling addiction and I find it frankly insulting to be accused of those things by my mother, the woman to whom I was so close during my childhood.  Shouldn’t she know me better?  Shouldn’t she credit me with more intelligence, show me more respect?  Has everything I’ve accomplished, the fact I’ve never gotten into trouble – does that all mean nothing?  It really hurts me when I have to suffer those things, even if they’re just jibes, coming from my family – the people who are supposed to be on my side more often than not feel like they are against me now, when I’m just being myself and having my own independent thoughts, opinions and life.  I refuse to compromise, I refuse to conform – I’m an adult, why should I? And shouldn’t my family be proud that I am my own man with my own mind? I don’t understand why I have to give itemised accounts of where I’ve been, what I’ve done, what I’ve eaten. That’s why these days, given the slightest opportunity, I’ll take off running out the door, because my friends (the only family I feel I have these days), my sanity, my freedom is out there.

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s.t.f.u.

September 26, 2009

Sorry I haven’t been around that much that past few days; I’ve been busy settling into my course at uni and everything that goes along with that.  I am pretty pleased (apart from the fact I was drunk on Thursday night before 7pm) with the content of the course, as it’s very inspiring and I feel that this might just be the right thing for me.  I can make a difference to young people in a realistic way – even though it’s been made clear that sometimes you can only do so much, I like to believe that even a little can be enough.  We’ll see – I have my first visit to a school on Thursday morning (Mike is giving me a lift) to help some Year 10s look through prospectuses… hopefully my optimism will hold through that! I’m sure it’ll be fine… just intro jitters.

So far, I seem to be getting along really well with everyone there! I think I have somewhat of a reputation for being talkative; I’m certainly not quiet to the point of being shy.  I don’t mind people thinking that I’m easy to talk to, and I’m 23 years old now so I am happy to voice my opinion as long as the situation is comfortable and demands it.  But I know that in the past, people have built preconceptions of me as talking too much, having a loud voice, not thinking before I speak.  Sometimes I don’t; I’m only human – but the way that I dress, the way that I act, my interests and hobbies and the way I carry myself and am able to have fun and be sociable does not equate to me not having a brain and not being able to engage it at the same time as my vocal cords.  Intelligence is not solely measured by IQ and the ability to memorise x amounts of books – I think that emotional intelligence, common sense, practical intelligence is all important too.

And I am so happy that my coursemates kinda reacted incredulously when I said “I know that I can talk a lot, but I also know how to shut up and listen to what other people say.” They were like “Alan, of course, the way you express yourself is very eloquent and you don’t say anything just for the sake of it.”  Telling them a bit about the preconceptions I am aware that people in the past have had of me, they were like “well we never thought that at all” (for example, I never like to reveal outright where I went to university because I don’t want it to compromise anyone’s opinion of me; but if asked, I will say “Oxford” – after all, I earned my place there so why keep it a secret?  Often, people’s immediate response is “Oh, Oxford Brookes, right?” Because I could never be bright enough to go to the real Oxford University – and in addition to insulting me, they also insult all the Brookes students too!  Oxford Brookes University runs some fantastic vocational courses, from what I understand.).

During our practice day preparation session, there was a point during debating the timetable / structure of the day where I didn’t really understand what was going on.  Instead of voicing my misunderstandings and adding to the general overall confusion, I just kept my mouth shut, looked through a folder with banks of activities, and started pulling out things which might be useful.  I knew that too many voices weren’t gonna help things, so I stayed quiet and let the others resolve things.  That was important to me because I didn’t want to enter into any kind of organisational role (especially since that wasn’t my role on this occasion), or be seen to be either bossy or ditzy; I knew that the organisers would sort things out, and that there were other useful things I could do in the meantime.  Whether the others do value what I say, find that I express myself with an eloquence that’s beyond my years (something Leanne said, which truly complimented me) or whatever, I don’t need to speak all the time.  Sometimes less is more.

Which is perhaps why I have not written so much on here in the past week or so; I guess that I haven’t had anything burning to write and I’ve been busy living my life and getting on with other things.  By this point, I’ve written plenty of blog entries that I don’t necessarily need to write every day; there’s still plenty of reading material here for y’all!  And I still definitely enjoy composing a blog entry; but I’m not going to blog for the sake of blogging, because if I have nothing to say, then that entry is going to devalue my words.  And I like to think that when I speak, my words have meaning.  So don’t worry if I’m quiet, or if I don’t write for a day or two – I’ll be back! (I can hardly stay silent for ever – less may sometimes be more, but nothing will still be nothing 😉 )  And when I speak, hopefully you’ll find what I say interesting.  Just for a little teaser of things I am developing in my mind to talk about: my mixtape High Fashion; tarot; Mariah Carey’s new album Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel; more relationship drama!  Keep it locked – I appreciate you and I enjoy you all!