It’s that clink-clink time again. The office party dissolves into some petty indiscretions – wandering hand trouble perhaps towards an admired colleague, or even inappropriate comments to one’s boss – and then morning after recriminations. Yet sometimes it’s far worse.  I’ll never forget seeing some poor soul being kicked like a football on a London street by a gang of laughing, drunken office workers.

The UK has a major booze problem. That’s obvious. So why do we continue to romanticise drunks?

For entertainment I like reading show business autobiographies. Recently I bought the autobiography of Robert Vaughn – yes, that’s right, the Man from Uncle – but also a very intelligent actor, having written a well respected account of the McCarthyite era.

To my dismay I noticed Vaughn had trotted out the same anecdotes about Oliver Reed’s willingness to exhibit his mighty mallet and a sozzled Richard Harris waiting for the (revolving) world – and hopefully his house –  to come round.

Film director Michael Winner probably spoke more truth in a recent newspaper article when he said the only actor he ever knew who really improved with drink was Jack Lemmon. All the others got much worse. Mind you, I can’t see Lemmon being nasty to anyone. 

My own take on booze has evolved considerably. Having a child changes you. Poignantly, it can also remind you of your own childhood. Mine was a hard-drinking household.
Around noon on a weekend I’d begin squeezing oranges for thirsty family members. Sadly, this was not born out of a keen awareness of the importance of Vitamin C! Rather, it arose out of the family’s pressing predilection for gin and orange. The first of the day always fell around lunchtime.

OK, so some laughs were had but it’s funny how they dissolved into tears. Extended family members got into trouble. Some had employment problems. Another has liver cirrhosis.  Everyone became just slightly less prosperous. And more in the same vein.

I’ll end this by citing an interview with another film star – Lee Marvin – shortly before his death in 1987. Asked about his notoriously rumbustious, drink-soaked younger days, and his erstwhile boozing buddies, Marvin replied. "Yeah, I kind of remember those times. Most of them (his friends) are saddled with strokes or cancer or in wheelchairs, or riddled with whatever gets to them. The pleasure ain’t worth the pain."

I’ll consider that over a large rakiya or two. But maybe not a third because now I know where to draw the line. It’s a shame so many people don’t because each festive season brings fresh carnage.