The Trumpeter

 

First of all, we have some very exciting news. Some dear friends of ours are getting married – though nowadays it’s called a Civil Partnership – and not only are we invited, but we have been asked to be Stand In Parents.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We can be whatever you want – parents, mates, brothers, sisters, cats or dogs. We’re easy.’
We are of course delighted, honoured and overwhelmed. Gulp. Even the animals are invited. Excuse me while I grope for my hankie….

But back to the trumpet. While we were away (see previous posts), Himself found that he couldn’t play the trumpet properly because his system is too acidic. This interferes with the mouthpiece and – er – things. (You can tell I’ve never played a wind instrument.) The remedy for this is, apparently, to cut down on things acidic. So far so good. But when he said he was going to stop drinking wine, I started worrying.
‘What are you going to drink instead?’ I asked, with a sense of déjà vu.
‘Vodka,’ he replied.
‘Ah.’
Those of you that know him will appreciate that Himself and spirits are not a good match. But I am learning not to say, ‘Oh God NO!’ Instead I watched him put a bottle of vodka into the shopping basket in the supermarket and advised moderation. Big mistake. I was told where to go. It was not a polite suggestion.

So that evening I watched as the level in the vodka bottle dropped. ‘Much better than that awful gin,’ Himself said, pouring himself yet another Large One and mixing it with grape juice. ‘It’s wine that’s the problem, Flowerpot, so I’m just going to Cut It Out.’

He went to bed early that night.
He didn’t sleep very well.
I suspect he didn’t feel very well in the morning, because he said, ‘I’m not going to drink vodka, Pop.’
Phew. But I’ve been down this path before. The proof of the pudding and all that. I just said, ‘Good idea, darling.’

Last night he announced he was giving up alcohol for as long as it takes to clear his system so he can play the trumpet properly. So we went to the pub while we waited for our takeaway. He had two gins and said, ‘that’s better. Bloody vodka. Horrible stuff.’ I managed not to say anything. Or snort.
We got our takeaway and went home and the rest of the bottle of vodka disappeared. Must be evaporation.

So today is Day One of Sobriety. Well, possibly.