THE VIEW THROUGH MY GLASS BOTTOM

‘Dear Mr Grocock… Please call us…to arrange your annual health review.’

It was a letter hinting at a return to some sort of routine normality – the NHS able at last to concentrate once more on the everyday mundaneness of a sixty-seven-year-old bloke and his daily dosage of an antihistamine, a statin, and two types of blood-pressure medication. And to ask the usual box-ticking questions about lifestyle, exercise, diet…and alcohol consumption.

As I write, my appointment is tomorrow, when there'll still be an overbearing presence of pandemiccontrol regulations that must be complied with: masks, social distance, crowd control, handsanitisation, etc. But by the time you're reading we'll hopefully be travelling significantly further towards the revival of the essential features of a familiar world of unhindered hospitality.

By which of course I mean the freedom to drink great British beer inside great British pubs.

Because I have a mischievous streak (have you noticed?) I look forward to the GP practice nurse's booze-based interrogation. Armed with substantial industry background knowledge and an unquenched thirst for research, I'm always ready with sharp responses to every question…

'How many units? Well, back in 1979 I had to work pretty hard to get up to the recommended weekly maximum of 56!’

'Oh it's 14 now, is it? Is there a scientific basis for that? Probably not, since the USA reviewed its limits at the same time as our latest reduction and decided to stick with 25 units for men.'

'Of course, I'm fine when I'm on holiday in Spain, because I'm allowed 35 units there – or maybe I'll emigrate to Fiji, where the advice says up to 52 are ok!’

Rest assured I know the nurse is following the prescribed guidelines of her job, and I'm careful that none of what I say comes across as a pompous ass's personal attack on her professionalism. Anyway, there's a chance my review will be with someone who's seen me before, so her eyes will be rolling as soon as I walk through the door – and I expect we'll be sharing a laugh about it all before I leave.

My respect, admiration and support for our NHS and its workers goes far beyond orchestrated rounds of applause, whose main achievement has been to distract attention from sinister political plans for the Service, plotted in the corridors of power, before the current crisis, by many who subsequently became the most prominent clappers.

But what matters most to me now, in this column, is the support for pubs (and breweries and the wider industry infrastructure) that will be vital for their successful commercial resurrection and restoration as integral and indispensable to the communities they serve. Though I'm proud to have spent the last forty-five years – in the broad range of roles and guises you probably know about – campaigning for, defending and championing pubs and beer, there is no doubt that, in spite of ongoing struggles against closures, rationalisation and the prohibitionist lobby, I've always taken the immortality of a vibrant pub culture for granted.

Until now.

With perfect timing – exactly as I'm wrestling with the drafting of meaningful and perceptive closing comments – I hear a radio news report announce that alcohol-related deaths in 2020 were up by 20%. Ludicrously, but typically, commentary is invited only from a leading anti-drink voice, regurgitating rote waffle about the demon and its inherent dangers…blah, blah, blah…

What I would ask Sir Ian Gilmour about is the correlation between these depressing new statistics and the indisputable fact that they've been generated during a period when pubs have been unable to operate at their customary levels; when, as a consequence, drinking has been predominantly away from a controlled, but essentially sociable and self-regulating, environment; and when, as a further consequence, problems associated with alcohol consumption as an end in itself have been brought to the fore. I'd remind him of the times when even temperance zealots have seen pubs more as a social foundation for moderation than the road to degeneracy and decay.

And I'd raise a pub-bought pint and propose a toast to our health.

Julian Grocock