Will is likely to be far more insightful on this – and already links to some interesting stuff.
I like, though, the idea that grog means Charlie isn’t fit to lead a political party, let alone bid for the premiership.
“[Pitt the Younger]’s final years were difficult. His health faltered, no doubt partly owing to excessive drink (he had been told after an early illness to drink plenty of port wine, which he surely did).”
Bartom Swaim, “Young man eloquent”.Indeed, it’s likely the booze killed him. The last line from Marjie Bloy’s biography:
“He drank heavily and probably died of renal failure and cirrhosis of the liver at the age of forty-six.”I believe, though can't verify, that on his deathbed his doctor prescribed "just a pint of port per day". And in the days that port was a bit cruder and bolshier than now.
And what about Winston?
“Churchill's drinking was perennially overblown, thanks largely to Churchill, who revelled in his alleged capacity. ‘He was not an alcoholic,’ quipped one waggish observer, ‘no alcoholic could drink that much.’ Another suggested WSC was perhaps ‘alcohol-dependent.’ Whether or not, Churchill once abstained from hard liquor for a year to win a bet with Beaverbrook, so it is difficult to judge exactly what he depended on.”
Michael McMenamin, "Winston's Whisky" – The Churchill Centre.This is not to suggest that a premier should be boozed up and rioting, nor that times haven’t changed. But Charlie does seem to be dealing with the problem. And the cack-handed way his party have mismanaged all this suggest the words brewery and piss-up…
Appropriately enough, having seen the news I wandered to pub, though it was too cold and me too tired to stay long. Said hello to a few people. K. is delighted I killed her, G. has leant me The Originals, and I now know a wordcount for something. Am currently 1,000 words over.
Monster Maker and Unloveable discussed blogging, both busy diarising the past. I promised reciprocal links and details of SiteMeter. So they’d better be reading.
Richard Dinnick told me what he’s got Sapphire and Steel up to, which sounds fab. We’ve both got a week now to get our scripts in. Eek. And S. was so delighted to remember Richard’s name, he even did a little dance.
And then home, where the heating now works – much to the cat’s delight. Fell asleep, toasty, watching Baker Street Babylon. Courtesy, it seems, of a fellow story editor…
Hot shower this morning. Mmmm.
And Christmas is over. On the way into town this morning I saw my first ad for Cadburys cream eggs.