Australians have a drinking problem, I think we can all agree on that. The problem; drinking costs too much. The most cash strapped among us, poverty stricken students, can only manage to scape together enough coins from under the couch cushions to get loaded on the weekend, our homeless and those living in the western suburbs are forced to endure drinking ‘red wine flavoured alcohol’ from a goon bag, how degrading.
On the plus side, the government gets paid its hefty ‘sin tax’ making sure we have hospitals to transplant our pickled livers while we create employment for busty blondes by way of pouring our drinks in bars. Drinking is as Australian as beer breath and the boxing day test.
We Australians are remarkably tolerant of liquid social lubricant, why else would we have elected Bob Hawke as Prime Minister and endorsed its use as a pick-up aid for ugly people – I’m sure we’re subverting human evolution by allowing the terminally ugly to pass on their genes.
But what would happen if the balance between price and inebriation was skewed? What would happen if alcohol was available as cheaply as lemonade or a glass of orange juice. Would society crumble under the weight of long lunches and work days missed. Would the mining, construction and media industries all evaporate overnight?
In the Philippines the balance is so skewed that the scales have collapsed completely.
A 750ml bottle of rhum, yes that’s how it’s spelt, can be purchased for $1.80, a 750ml bottle of vodka can be purchased for $1.65 and a 1L bottle of beer for $1.45. A 220ml can of Pineapple juice, an obvious choice for a mixer in the tropics, will cost you 90c. More expensive by volume than beer, rhum or vodka!
Keeping the country ticking over, rather than constantly inebriated are the twin towers of sobriety; the Roman Catholic Church and extreme poverty. For the ex-pat Aussie living in ‘the Peens’ these issues are mere inconveniences to be observed from afar, rather than endured firsthand.
Last weekend the Fiancé and I hosted a small party for some American and Australian volunteers. It was relatively quiet, until someone suggested we play a drinking game. The Americans were a little reserved, but the Australians took it as a green light to total annihilation.
It was barely after midnight when one Australian peeled himself from the floor to reveal a telltale wet-patch. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen peed pants, it was year three in Miss Osbourne’s class after she refused to let Brendan leave the classroom - the outrage, the indignation, the shame. Brendan was an eight year old boy, accidents happen, my countryman is a 24 year old man and should be judged by different standards. His solution, deny everything then calmly spill half a glass of vodka and lemonade down the front of his pants in a gesture designed to show the ‘real reason’ behind the stain and simultaneously dilute the smell.
The truth of the pee mystery will forever be hidden behind social niceties, but one thing I can certain of is when the scales are tilted too quickly, it’s easy to lose your balance – much like the fiancé riding our motorbike, completely sober of course.