RULES FOR HEROINES concerning location which I had never before articulated but unconsciously followed. I knew instinctively that I was crossing a dangerous boundary by hiding alcohol, however small in quantity, in my bedroom. BY KAREN LAIRD
I quickly explained that I was not drinking alone, as soon there would be an actual person magically appearing on the other side of my computer screen. I explained that this was my weekly Skype happy hour with my friend from graduate school. My American friend had rules, for her drinking, too – rules about starting after 5 p.m. which were increasingly inconvenient with the time zone difference between us. My Italian colleague didn’t comment, and I felt a bit defensive and misunderstood as she walked away. She probably doesn’t understand British drinking culture, I reasoned. If I hadn’t just moved to this country only weeks before, I would be out right now with friends. I should be commended for being so ladylike and drinking quietly here by Jane Austen’s piano, rather than making myself conspicuous at the village pub. Jane Austen herself is like wine, as I found ample evidence in her letters. When she was 38 years old, Austen confided to her beloved sister Cassandra: By the bye, as I must leave off being young, I find many douceurs in being a sort of chaperon, for I am put on the sofa near the fire and can drink as much wine as I like.1 Like Jane Austen, I craved a position where I could drink as much wine as I liked without scrutiny or judgment. So I made a decision that felt immediately uncomfortable: I would stop drinking wine in the common spaces of the house, and instead have my evening drink in my bedroom. This was breaking a rule
But having a supply of wine there “just in case” made me feel so much safer, that I made special journeys to stock up. The house was in a rural part of the country, and I had no car. Getting to Marks & Spencer entailed walking through the quaint village, across fields of sheep, and then crossing an A-road. Still baffled by the traffic rules of a UK roundabout, I flew myself across the chaotic road in a blind panic. Once safely at my beloved Marks & Spencer, I purchased the daintiest miniature bottles of wine – so pretty and floral, I was sure that Jane Austen herself would approve. They seemed a sensible solution, too, as I could ration out the mini bottles and have only per evening as my reward. But I came to find that the red wine was so warming on an autumn evening, and three mini bottles were not very much at all. Now here was a dilemma: I could not leave five empty mini wine bottles in the wastepaper basket. A sweet, grandmotherly housekeeper came every few days to tidy up our bedrooms, and I wouldn’t want to shock her with such unsightly rubbish. Thankfully, I was sure I had noticed a recycling bin at the Marks & Spencer complex. I knew
HOLA SOBER | MADRID
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