I believe in speaking my mind, regardless of the people or subject.
I don’t hide behind a mask. That is my Fizzog that you can see, so what you see and read is what you get.
Some of you may know that for the past few weeks I’ve been busy moving to my new home and unfortunately this has prevented me from doing my normal blog.
So, on that note – over to Chrissie!
Hi Folks! Thanks to Jimbo for allowing me into his territory to keep the flag flying in his absence!
I wanted to share my story (and my husband, Paul’s), and am doing so with his permission. I wanted to keep a record for posterity as both a reminder for myself and also as a warning to others about the dangers of alcohol abuse, and how it can wreck lives. Without further ado, here is part three of our ongoing saga.
I was used to spending most nights in the pub – my ex-partner was a fairly prolific drinker, who, by the way, has now cut down drastically, partly due to cost-cutting, but also mainly due to having seen the effect that the toll of heavy drinking has taken on Paul.
The difference now is that Paul has always been a daytime drinker rather than an evening drinker, and this took me some getting used to at first.
We would get up around 7am to get ready for work, then either take the train or drive to Poulton-le-Fylde where we were working and work until 12.30.
Then it was time for the daily run into town for lunch at the local pub. This invariably meant that Paul would drink at least 2 pints, sometimes 3, and more often than not, lunch for him was a liquid one.
Then at 2.30 it was back to the office until 4.45pm, followed by a quick trip to the pub for another pint while we waited for our train back to Chorley.
Normally, by this stage I was ready for home, but not Paul.
So, next was a trip to our local pub, The Swan With Two Necks in Chorley where Paul would top himself up with 4 or 5 more pints.
We would probably, if I was lucky(!), leave the pub at about 9.30pm, and on the way home we would call into the local Co-op and I would buy at least 2 bottles of wine, sometimes 3, which he would consume before bed.
While Paul was drinking his wine, I might occasionally join him for a couple of glasses while I ate my evening meal.
Invariably, I would ask Paul if he wanted something to eat, and invariably the answer would be a resounding “No thank you”!
Normally, we would go to bed at about midnight.
At approximately 5am, Paul would get up and raid either the biscuit tin, or eat whatever had been left in the fridge from the day before, and that would be the only time he would eat.
This went on for almost 18 months before something happened that began to change our lives forever.
Next time I’ll tell you what happened next.
Take care, and remember – in order to receive love – first of all you have to give it. X