Alcoholic constipation

A condition that many people suffered from in their late teens and early twenties, especially in the UK in the late 1980’s early 90’s; where the cultural consumption of alcohol seemed to explode as the nations disposable income increased and even if it didn’t for you, then having a pint seemed like a good way to console yourself! Alcoholic constipation was born – the inability to pass a pub – without stopping off for a pint!

It was around this time, whilst down on my luck, that I bumped into a chap called Victor Budris, oddly enough in a bookies, in Scarborough. He explained to me that he was heading off to Jersey to pick potatoes to fund his lager lifestyle. The rest as they say, especially if you have read my past post, is history.

A Young Persons Railcard, the key to a half price train and ferry ticket to Jersey, was all I needed to head off into the glaring sun as I headed south.  About 20 hours after setting off I arrived in the land of plenty. Unfortunately my meagre savings and the recent expense of travel left me with less than £5 in my pocket and the prospect of a pint was still over 7 miles (12 Km) away. I later learned that we couldn’t have found a more distant pub in the Island from our starting location, but the calling of a tax free beverage and the possibility of gaining employment was the only incentive I needed to make the hike.

Why the long walk for a pint? Victor explained to me that if we arrived at the pub (the La Ralais de Mielles) around tea time then all the farmers would be popping in for a pint after a hard days toil in the fields; this would be an ideal time to say those immortal words ‘gizza job’ and thus find gainful employment as tuber excavators. As a plan it seemed a bit loose, but Victor had three seasons under his belt so I went along with him; what did I have to lose other than my remaining £5 and some boot leather.

Of course the plan worked, my pint cost me less than 50p and we both had jobs within 20 minutes of walking into the pub, not to mention accommodation which, although basic, covered the essentials for survival in a distant southern Island.

For the season of ‘87 The Ralais, our shortened version of La Ralais de Mielles, became a second home, along with The Bell Tap, The Marina, Sands, The Forge, The Watersplash and Les Sables d’Or; yes you guessed it I had started to suffer from alcoholic constipation, and as I returned to Jersey again for my winter break I thought I would visit some of the old dispensaries.

As is often the case in this modern world of finance, the developers have moved in and little remains of the hostelries that I used to frequent; still the pictures are a god introduction of the countryside and architecture of this wartime German stronghold; more of which on another post.



Author: Eddy Winko

Left the rat race to live a less hectic and harmful life. From the building of a straw bale house to the composting toilet diaries; read my blog

10 thoughts on “Alcoholic constipation”

  1. Eddy mate, I am getting stuff through on e mail, ‘Temporary Post to check Themes’, or something like that. It is no hassle, but I thought I would let you know that they come back ‘not found’ if clicked on. Just in case you are trying to do something?
    Cheers, Pete.

    1. Thanks Pete, appreciated, I hadn’t realised it would send out a notification; sorry for the spam. Hopefully I’m sorted out and the next post will be for real.

      Hope to catch up soon.

      All the best


  2. One thing I missed in Poland was the village pub! I’m back in the UK for the winter as well, one of the first things I did was get down the village pub for a pint and a bit of banter.

    Nothing like this in the village in Poland, hanging outside the village shop isn’t quite the same. Maybe I’ll host a unofficial pub in the bar featuring some homebrew ale.

    Hope you manage to get a nice pint or two over the winter.

    1. Hope all is going well in the UK, I’ll be passing through on my way back at the end of the month and will definitely be having a few back in Yorkshire.
      All my old haunts are closed down now in Jersey and I’ve only managed a few pints as I save the pennies!

      I know what you mean about the hanging around the shops with a beer in Poland, even if I was fluent I think I’ll give it a miss, although we have a half decent bar only 50meters from the in-laws place; good for a pint in the summer, sitting outside.

      All the best, the new sire is looking good; I must do the same 🙂

  3. I never could drink much beer. In college when everyone went out on keggers (drinking beer in paper cups on a sunny hillside) I learned that if I poked a small hole in the bottom of the cup, I could keep up with the best of them…but in taverns, I’d have to slink to the rear while the beer guzzling greats took center stage. 🙂

    1. I have to say my drinking career is all but over, but it made for some interesting tales whilst living in Jersey. I’m more of a special occasions kind of guy now; with the occasional over indulgence that I pay for for days on end.
      All the best.

  4. Ah, Jersey Royals, a little butter, potato of champions! Hand-picked by Winko, at no extra charge. I was probably eating part of your crop, having just moved back to London Docklands at the time.
    Sounds like great days Eddy mate, I have never been to the C.I., must try to see them one day.
    Best wishes as always, Pete.
    (Ladysighs, I like an occasional drink too. And any time is an occasion…)

    1. It was a wonderful Island, now I fear it is all consumed by the finance industry that feeds it, with only the occasional spud as a side dish.
      But then maybe I’m too harsh as I am enjoying my winter break albeit without Gosia.

  5. I am fortunate. I married a man who will only take an occasional drink….but only in his own home….and never more than one….and only about once a week.

    Unfortunately he keeps his eye on the bottle and measures the height of the golden liquid before and after he pours. Keeps me honest. lol

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