Rounds

According to drinkaware, one in four adults in England is a “hazardous” drinker. (This is, apparently, a rather more technical, and troubling, categorisation than ‘happy drunk’ or ‘angry drunk’). The government is regularly contemplating ways to curb drinking, from increasing the tax on a pint through to boring the public out of a desire to drink by education campaigns. In recent times, I have become something of a drinking expert (for research purposes only, of course) and have uncovered a hard truth: none of this will make a difference to the nation’s drinking problem. The real issue at the core of binge drinking is simple: rounds. Until we dismantle the seemingly ingrained culture in England of buying rounds at the pub, one in four adults will remain a hazardous drinker. And, indeed, I will be one of them.

Perhaps Australians are, by nature, a bit less organised and haphazard with their drinking. It is usual to buy your friends a drink and return the favour but, at least amongst my circle, there wasn’t a rigid approach to buying rounds for the group. This is in stark contrast to England. In England, everyone takes a turn buying a round for the group. And everyone keeps a close eye on whose round it is. If someone foolishly tries to depart the pub for the evening without taking their turn to purchase a round, there will be a few raised eyebrows or a pointed “on your way to the bar for your round, can you get me a …”

The system of rounds works quite well if there are only a couple of you: everyone has a drink, everyone buys a drink, and everyone goes home feeling jolly. However, when it’s a regular post-work drinks get-together, involving ten or so of you, the evening gets messy.

Being a petite 5ft 2 (and so having a proportionately petite liver), I’ve tried to escape from the rounds. I’ve tried to bow out at the first drink, insisting “I’m only having one tonight” and have bought my own. But it just doesn’t work. I might escape at the first drink, but before I’ve finished it someone will notice what I’m drinking and I’ll find another glass of the same thrust into my hand. And that’s it, I’m caught in the round. And once you’re in the round, there’s no escaping. No matter how many advertisements I see, telling me about the damage occurring to my liver, and no matter how expensive the pints become, the fear of raised eyebrows is going to mean I’m beholden to the round.

In short: it’s not me. I do not have an alcohol problem. I’m just a victim of English culture.