There are many reasons why you might be pleased with the apparent decision to drop minimum alcohol pricing. Maybe you don’t want the state getting involved in such things, maybe you’re worried about possible damage to the alcohol industry, or maybe you just love a good ole drink and don’t want to pay extra for the privilege.
How will this play out for our representatives over in Westminster? It’s no secret that there have been various MPs and Lords who have a enjoyed a drink or two in their time. In Mr Speaker: The Office and the Individuals Since 1945, Matthew Laban describes sherry-sipping Horace King, who was once so drunk he couldn’t climb the steps to the Speaker’s Chair. There have been various other alcohol related scrapes, from Mark Reckless, who was so inebriated that he fell to the floor of a Commons bar before a Budget vote, to William Pitt the Younger who, in 1773, suffered an attack of gout. He was prescribed a bottle of port a day, and it became Pitt’s lifelong tipple.
Paul Flynn offers the following advice on drinking in Westminster in How To Be An MP
How to Eat and Drink
Simply. There is a persuasive army of people bent on bloating the bodies and dulling the senses of Members with fine food and drink. They aim to induce states of comatosed receptivity for their blandishments.
An MP’s working day is long and exhausting. Over-indulging in food and drink is the enemy of work. The Palace of Westminster is awash with alcohol in the bars and countless daily receptions. It’s possible to go through the whole day, from a breakfast seminar with Danish pastries to afternoon and evening receptions with wine and finger food, accepting the hospitality of those who seek your company. A few sad souls do.
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Advice on alcohol is simple. Don’t drink at Westminster. Dennis Skinner argues faultlessly that he never drank when he was on duty down the mines – why drink on duty in Parliament? It is not a lonely vocation. There is a large and growing band of Westminster teetotallers. The drinkers soon understand and stop offering drinks. Abstemious Members can still plunge into the full joys of social life by sipping non-alcoholic drinks or by joining in the full delights of après-Parliament activities outside when the House rises.
There is always a good reason for drinking. After a bad day, a consoling swig is essential to rebuild collapsed spirits. After a good day, a celebratory glass is a deserved reward for success. It would be churlish to refuse a drink on social occasions in the constituency at weekends.
That means some alcohol every day – the certain path to softening of the brain, cirrhosis of the liver and political impotence. Happily now the drinks are not subsidised. Prices are similar to those elsewhere in London. Westminster drinkers have the added peril of speaking in the Chamber. Alan Clark is one of the few who have admitted to doing it. He survived, but only just. One notorious Tory soak was packed into a taxi by his friends with instructions to convey him to his Pimlico home. He was so drunk they feared a scandal. They returned to the Strangers Bar and were horrified half an hour later to see the miscreant’s name on the annunciator. He had escaped the taxi, returned to the Chamber and was called to speak. Hansard kindly did not attempt to record his incoherent drunken babble. They simply summed it with the word, ‘Interruption.’
So there you have it; whether you choose to drink in Westminster or not, just remember. You have been warned…