What a falling off there has been! Here is my father, speaking of his

father (who was a useful and productive member of society, a responsible

family man, and a politician — he ran for the local council on the ticket

of Lloyd George’s Liberal party): “He drank a bottle of whiskey a day. He

drank till the blood spurted out of his ears.” Kingley Amis, visiting the

U.S.A. in the 1950s, reported that no-one was ever sober after lunch. I

myself worked as a bartender in Liverpool around 1970. My male customers —

stevedores, mostly — would have thought their evening trip to the pub

wasted if they didn’t drink 10 or 12 pints of beer. They played darts and

cribbage the whole time, with great skill and accuracy. Anyone who was

swaying, stumbling, or slurring his words at closing time was regarded as a

sissy who couldn’t hold his drink. What a race of Milquetoasts we have

become!