When you stop doing something that is so engrained in British society you almost become an outcast. Even though the something is bad for your health, your mood and bad for society. And yet we all tug on the barmaids apron because trying to deal with life without the sweet nectar seems too large, too boring and too tangled. At least with the stuff we can open up to others, show real feelings without embarrassment and invade personal space without thought. We fight, we fuck and we feel no fear.
Then we all suffer in the morning, feel regret, maybe, if we are lucky, turn over in bed and find a stranger. And the only way to cope is to hug another bar and start all over again. While around you all the people you hugged the night before are doing the same thing, hair of the dog and one for the road. She always drags you back in.