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Units for You Nits

Units for You Nits

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Published by Charlie Gregory
Mind Control
Mind Control

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Published by: Charlie Gregory on Nov 28, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Units for You Nits
I see that the panel of “experts” who invented units of alcohol, and then
told us what quantities of their invention it is safe for men and women to consume, have now come clean and admitted that they picked the figures
 “out of the air” based on no scientific basis. What’s more, it turns out that every country has its own “safety limit” and no two “limits” are the same.
Smell a rat? For example, in Saudi, the limit is zero-
blank all round. You can’t
even get a packet of bacon-flavoured crisps in an Arab p
ub. “Ganja flavour
? Yes pliz mister,
Bacon flavour? Oh no, mister. And pliz removing
shoes!” I’m 79 and I’ve been a happy drinker since I was 17 –
 beer, whisky and, for the last 15 years, wine as well: and I am reasonably fit; no prescription drugs whatsoever
zilch! I don’t have a beer gut either. I’ve got piles and a bad knee, and that’s enough
 to be going on with. The doc says that the
knee is not alcohol related. But he’s not sure about the piles, because larger
drinkers spend a lot of time on the thunder-box
. I didn’t mention that, for the last 60 years, I’ve spent most weekends bouncing off
my knees on the way home from the pub.
I’m no alcoholic though, oh no, not me. I may be an ageing piss artist, but I‘m no alc
y. How do I know? Well, one of the symptoms of being an alcoholic is that you keep denying it... and hiding the evidence. Is that one
symptom, or two? I have difficulty focussing at this time of night. But I’m
not alcoholic, oh no, definitely not. And anyone who says I am an alcy is lying. I hardly drink really. All that stuff I keep among the gardening tools in the shed keeps disappearing. So does that stuff behind the paint tins in the garage.
That’s why I keep renewing it. Every time I go back, it’s just empty bottles. So I can’t be alc
... there’s nothing there... nothing... I think the wife’s drinking it. Shhhh...
 How can I be s
ure that my hobby isn’t eating away at my insides, and that my liver doesn’t look like a sponge that’s been festering in a sewer for the last 10 years? Well... at my age, it wouldn’t matter anyway. But the fact is
that my liver is not disintegrating. I kno
w that, because I’ve been for a
voluntary medical look-see... ...Which brings to mind another medical I had about 10 years ago. It was one of those things that was on a half price offer, like smelly fish. So I went for it. A nurse checked me from head to tail, and then, while we waited for the results, a doctor interrogated me about my vices.
 “Do you drink?” he wanted to know.
 “Of course,” I replied.
 “How many units do you drink in a week?” he wanted to know.
 “None,” I told him.
 “But you said
 “I said, I drink; but I don’t drink units; just pints of beer and litres of spirits and wine.” 
 “OK,” he conceded, “how many pints and litres would you consume in a week?” 
I rattled off some figures. It was easy. I’m a creature of habit.
 “My God,” he croaked, scribbling on a note pad, “that’s nearly ninety units.” 
 “They don’t do units where I live,” I told him, “only pints and litres.” 

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