The bottle runs dry

Through the doors I went. There was just a fading yellowy, walled,
wide corridor with adjoining rooms. A couple of guys were slowly,
purposelessly shuffling up and down. One was too skinny and had wild,
knotted black hair to go with his off yellow skin. He blended in well
with the walls actually! He had the empty wide stare that you see in
all the films of nut jobs!! I was expecting a big fucking Indian to
start sweeping the corridor very soon. The other guy was a fairly
normal looking young blonde guy, combed hair, but with an intelligent
squint and he held on to himself with his elbows as he shuffled along.
He scared me more than the plainly, off his fucking trolley, seen him
in every film about New York, when a street nutter is needed,
geezer!

Stab! More thick custard takes an age to get through the fat in my
arse?"Fuck"! "Does it hurt"? Give me your hand to bite on to blunt the
pain and I'll give you back a half-eaten hand!
So, I've got drugs going in at one end and blood coming out of my arms
at the other.
I am made to strip and everything on me is taken away. I'm dressed in
creamy brown heavily starched pyjamas with a red-star on it! Now of
course all sorts of images go racing through my fucked, but mellowing
head, Stalinist work camps, Gestapo prisons! The drugs are having some
effect!
I'm given my cigs and lighter! Things are looking up! I thank my
brother-in-law and the doors are locked behind him.
That's it then! I ain't ever getting out of here!
I was taken to my room. Shit! They had put me in with the young
syco!
Two beds, two bedside tables and cameras. That was it! Oh ye! A big
flask of tea! There was a toilet, with no lock and a big window for
people to peer in! I was given another shot in the arse. I sort of
slept, at last! A dreamy, half awake mixed up sleep, drifting sort of
in and out of consciousness!! I kept waking up and seeing the young guy
sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at things in his
locker?counting and filing stuff?god knows what?I introduced
myself?."Hello. My name's Nick, I'm English, I don't speak Czech very
well, but I can understand if you speak slowly". "My name's Lubos,
would you like to have a readers digest to read? It's in Czech, but I
think there is a little English in them"? "Thanks, but I will try to
sleep". He didn't seem too fucking mad after all. Maybe he was so
drugged up, that he appeared normal.

A shout for Dinner woke me and I shuffled down the hall to meet my new
comrades?.
I was starving actually! I was given a roll and some cocoa, "Only this
for you I'm afraid"!
The others didn't have a lot more anyway. Marg and ham to go on their
rolls and some cakes to follow. People took their plates and mugs and
retired into a room at the end of the corridor. I followed suit. There
were two dining tables and a couple of easy chairs and a few shelves of
books, piles of Readers Digests and a TV! There were about eight guys
of various ages and obvious fucked-up-ness. There was a good-looking
young guy, about 25 or so, who was in a bad way. He was having
difficulty holding anything and his eyes showed obvious signs of panic
and paranoia. There was one woman about fifty, small, broken-veined
skin, who was obviously, drugged up to her eyeballs and obviously mad
as a hatter?you can tell?. The eyes say it all?. She looked at me and
the look behind the drugs said nothing, the brain was on stand-by. It
was on, but you needed to hit a key somewhere for the thing to fully
operate?they hadn't hit any of her keys!

The grim faces in the shower room weren't laffing!
"My names Nick, I'm from England, I'm sorry but my Czech is bad when I
speak, but I can understand very well". Fuck all! Couple of nods. The
good-looking shaker was scavenging for dog-ends in the ashtray. "Please
have one". He couldn't take the fag. I put it in his hand and held my
lighter for an age for him to shake himself into a position to be able
to suck a light quickly!
A small stocky guy spoke! Intelligent looking, but weather beaten at
the same time. A certain dignified air, A round face coupled with a
slightly larger than normal hooter. This is typical of the look of a
Moravian intellectual. A mountain man in his heart, they like to think,
but a farmer really, with the experience and culture of the city.

" So you're Polish are you"?
" No, English"! Where did he get Polish from? Either my Czech is great,
because he mistook my accent for another Slavic tongue or it's so crap
that he understood nothing. The first explanation pleased me!
" English! London"?
"Birmingham, the second city. The biggest after London. Most people
think that it's Manchester or Liverpool, but no, it's Birmingham". I
explain this often.
"Birmingham! Very fine Orchestra, no"?
"What? Ere?ye I suppose so?erm?why do you say so"?
" What is your job? I am a chorister for the Brno Orchestra".
"Really"!
"Yes, it is my job, I have played in many fine cities, but never
Birmingham".
"Well, that's cus it's not that fine a city really, you know,
Industrial city. Well it was, you know? Before Thatcher"! I spit on the
floor, which always raises a laugh.
"Why are you in here"? I say.
"Not a good question. Do not ask these people this question"!
"Sorry"!
"Well, it was the music you see? It just started going round and round
in my head, too much! Like an explosion?Boom!" He was gesturing with
his hands a lot. He didn't seem crazy. Too much classical music sent ya
mad did it? Understandable! He never mentioned if it was coupled with
booze, but I think so. My guess is that, obviously he's in a band, ok a
classical band, but it's still rock and roll!
Musicians all, mad boozers! You can see it can't you? Years of
frustration, singing other peoples songs. You never get
singer-songwriters in classical music do you? Well, maybe Mozart, but
most classical musicians must be bloody really frustrated. It's worse
than some local band in a pub playing covers from the sixties! I mean
these guys are playing tunes written hundreds of fucking years ago?Oh!
You can feel the frustration. The sense of lack of fulfilment. And
after the show? On a cold February night in some dead end, one Kino
town. In the Old town hall. Local blue suited bureaucrats, old musty
fur-coated wives in tow. Well, you'd get pissed wouldn't you?

We were woken early. New nurses, pretty too, but still just as bolshy.
We were ordered out of bed. Ordered into the smoking/shower room and
ordered to strip and wash. Which I did under the eyes of a nice
intellectual looking blonde nurse who looked on nonchalantly, smoking a
lot. Our uniforms were thrown into a pile, later to be burned or
starched to death. The array of bodies in differing states of decay was
a bit too much for that time of the morning. Needless to say, I ended
up showering next to 'the Lurch', the guy I first saw endlessly pacing
the corridor when I arrived. His skin was grey and it flapped in places
where muscle should have been. He had legions all over his body and his
belly was bloated like a little African boy full of Mealy Meal.
We were allowed to shave, when they eventually found the key to the
cupboard that held anything remotely dangerous, like razors, and
toothbrushes, we were watched meticulously.
We all stood there naked, for what seemed an age, waiting to be suited.
No one bothered to hide their bits. What's the point when you've
watched someone evacuate their bowls in the door-less toilet? There was
little point in modesty.
No one spoke, we just looked! At nothing in particular, just waiting
for the first fag of the day. Our first intake of a substance. Duly
suited, the others breakfasted on porridge, juice, rolls, cheap meat
paste and coffee and other specific foods individually targeted. I
could have partaken too, but obviously nobody had bothered to check on
what a fucked up pancreas and liver can and cannot take. I had had some
experience, though not of this magnitude, so I self controlled my
dietary intake by having black tea and dry bread. A bit like what they
had given me for dinner anyway.
The young guy looked better, his shaking had subsided and he was
devouring his breakfast like a weary traveller. I offered my left over
food, which he took gratefully and quickly, before he was captured. I
now realised I had no fags left, after offering them around to the
needy yesterday. A male nurse came round and took orders; Newspapers,
chocolate and cigs.
"And what time does this guy bring all this stuff"?
He spoke a little English.
"I give him your wants now and he go take them here at, maybe
eleven"!
'Eleven'! Three or four hours away! Shit!
People drifted into the shower room and puffed away.
"You want cigarette"?
The musician came to my rescue.
"Please! I'll give you them back when the man comes".
"No mind, take many. Tell me, in England there are much money for
working"?
"Depends on the kind of job you do".
I then talked and talked to willing listeners, even lurch seemed to
have a light on.
It was like being in a pub, meeting new friends. People had come to
life?Guys started to shake hands with me and introduce themselves; the
young guy, Radek, my roommate, Lubos, the musician.. Vladslav.
I talked and acted out the words when I couldn't remember the
Czech??"Worker??blue collar?..(Mimed some manual task)?.Good
money"!
They proceeded to ask questions.
"How much Cigarettes"?
"How much a teacher earn"?
"How much a beer"?
"Why are you here"?
"You like Czech beer"?
"I am from??"????And so on and so on?
Soul mates. In it together. It was like everyone had arrived the same
day on the same prison bus and had been cautious at first, as anybody
would be, but had now dropped their guard. Why? The drugs? Was everyone
better now? Had we all been on the same bender, but obviously in our
own versions of it? Had we all bombed at the same time?
Vladslav, pissed the nurse off for asking for something from the
cupboard. He went to the TV room with his bowl and bag of goodies.
There was a chat with the nurse and he was left alone. I pretended to
look at the books. He had a fucking electric razor. One of those big
ones that a barber uses on the back of your neck. He had been here a
long time that was clear, or a lot of times before. To be trusted with
such a weapon!
I lay on the bed. A pile of doctors came in. I listened to some woman
rabbitting on about me. The head doc with her pupils. It was like Carry
on Doctor. I grasped the gist.
"Yes and this is an Englishman, he has a bad liver and pancreas and has
been drinking too much and he's heads gone! You can see here on the
charts. And what do the tests reveal to us"?
"His insides are capute"! A bright spark!
"Yes, yes, and what shall we give him in this situation"?
"Custard! Into the arse"?
"Correct"!
"Loads of drugs injected and into the mouth, to stop the tremors and
make him sleep"?
"You'll go far, but you are all forgetting one vital thing"!
Dumb looks all round?..
"Tea"!
There were nods of understanding and they waltzed off.
A real doc came and explained loads of stuff to me. And gave me a
choice, they would like to keep me here for some time, but are worried
about the cost for me.
"So, we would give you the possibility of going to our regular ward.
This is not intensive care, but you will get the same treatment as here
and it's cheaper".
"Good, good, when do I go"?
"After lunch, and now we will get more blood and give you more drugs,
your liver is very bad"!
I Listened as Lubos was advised and thanked and wished good luck.
He had been here some time then! And was leaving today.
I peered into the TV room, Vladslav had completely shaved, not only his
beard, but also the whole of his head and was onto his chest when the
nurse took the razor off him. He grinned at me with pride, and was
satisfied with his work! An action of defiance?
I dozed, lunched and then said goodbye to a few over a cigarette. There
was no change of e-mail addresses, no "We should meet up sometime,
maybe for dinner"?
I was given my civilian clothes and my valuables were checked
off.
Then unlocked the doors and a fat woman nurse led me to pastures new. I
had left behind?.What? I still did not know why any of the guys was in
there! I can only guess!

I was led through a maze of steaming alleys, the backside of hospital
kitchens, iron stairwells and load laundries. We then came into what
seemed like the grounds of a ch?teaux.
Again, like the building I had first encountered, it had ornate little
wind-weary statues and wooden garden teahouses, which may be lovely in
the summer, but now gave a desolate feel to the place. We entered the
ch?teaux, and wound our way up the wide curved stairwell to the third
floor. We entered a sort of waiting room, with a couple of benches and
racks of huge blue and off green sturdy workmen's coats. Underneath
which were a diverse array of ex-army and farming boots, I then passed
into a very long room, down the middle of which were drab dining tables
and chairs. Off to the side were, what seemed like a huge amount of
closed doors. I waited as the nurse passed masses of paperwork onto a
bemused, put out, white suited, slippered assortment of docs and
helpers. I watched the room. There were a few guys changing into
outside clothes, chatting away happily. A Chinese looking guy, mumbling
to himself as he listened to a walk-man. A couple of the usual walking
Zombies, getting in a few lengths. And activity, people came and went
through constant opening and closing doors.
I was pricked, prodded and administered once again. And kitted out with
a new red uniform, still as starchy but with a different symbol, a
yellow moon. I was shown my room. A large, long annexe to the main one.
There were five beds, head to head on the one side and three on the
other. People had side tables and there were locked wall wardrobes.
There was more of a homely feel about this place. There were books and
fruit and toiletries around each occupant's little cosy den. My bed was
near the barred window, through which I could watch the kitchen staff
at work and at smoke outside.
There were only three showers. I was shown the bogs, there were only
two, and they smelt. I had already gathered that there must be at least
fifty inmates on this wing. That's a lot of loose bowl movements!
Half way down the room there was an annexe. A large room with benches
all around and a fish tank dividing the two rooms. In the middle was a
small pool table. A bookcase and a view of the gardens, but little
else. The recreation room?
There was a comfortable telly room and a kitchen. The good-looking
nurse went through her ritual of giving info, about times and
procedures, rules and regulations. I nodded a lot, but grasped about
half of what she was on about. I'd wait; the rules they give are always
interpreted differently by the ones who must obey them.
The far busy doorway lead to the smoking area. I thanked the 'looker'
and lit up. This was not a room but a stop off on the stairwell. It was
dark and smelly. There was a table with three chairs and various bins
filled to overflowing with fag ends, blackened banana skins and empty
biscuit packets. Various pockets of people were sitting on the stairs,
a middle-aged man, broken-veined face, was talking quietly to his
bedraggled wife. Making promises he might not be able to keep?

The three chairs were occupied by the 'daddies' of the smokers and
maybe the ward. They talked a lot.
"You are English I think, do you speak French"? A young guy, a left
over punk/heavy metaler, spoke to me in some sort of French.
"Qui, a petite poi"! I made the mistake of answering in French.
He then let fly in a mish-mash of languages, French and German, which I
could grasp only a little of. I tried to explain.
In French: "Look, my French is a bit bad, but yours, I cannot
understand at all"!
In Czech: "I can speak Czech, it would be better if you talked in
Czech"!
He added Czech words to his mishmash.
This guy was a hundred miles an hour! Was he on speed? Why hadn't they
given him drugs to calm him down? Everyone else looked as if they were
spaced out and I was chilled.
"Birmingham! Black Sabbath, UB40, Aston Villa"!
"Yes, all shit, although UB40 are all right and good guys, joined in
the riots, did a lot of stuff for the miners and the printers and still
live in the same area, put a lot into the local community and some of
their music is ok"!
Did he understand me?
"GBH, old punk group, do you remember them? I played with them"! This
came out as "I was in them".
"You were the singer in GBH? I loved them! Yes, I recognise you"!
I do/did used to/do bear a slight resemblance to the singer.
"No, I was a singer with a band who played with GBH"!
This came out all wrong, again. I had only confirmed his query. He then
went off on one, in French mainly;
" Tell me about punk! Why are you here"? And more. He then rolled off a
list of bands he thought were good.
"Exploited"!
"Comic punks"!
"Judas Priest"!
"Also from Brum, but heavy metal shit"!
"Nirvana"!
"American! Few good songs. Nothing original, and he was a tosser, so
alternative that he blew his fucking head off! Wanker"!
He looked shocked but laughed. He then took me on a tour and introduced
me to people and gave me advice.
"They lock the smoking door at 9.00, the TV room at 9.30. But we can
meet up and smoke in the toilets".
Oh joy!
We were called to dinner. Each table had paper nametags on them. Each
table also had a dinner monitor, like at school, who brought, water and
cutlery and poured coffee or chocolate or tea. The dinner ladies, just
like school, went along and looked at their sheets and checked them
with the nametags and gave out the appropriate grub.
I was given some clear soup and a roll, which was what I needed, but I
didn't need the heavy Gulas and Dumplings for second course. Did these
people have no concept of diet? Did they have any idea of the pain that
Gulas and dumplings would lead too? People's Liver and Pancreas take a
battering from Czech country cooking at the best of times, but mine are
now fucked! Don't they know this? I gave it away to my astonished but
happy sullen faced co-diners. One guy gave me an apple. We all helped
clear the tables and some guys did the washing up. There was clearly a
router for different jobs etc.
Back, to a now crowded, smoking landing. Radek, I had found out his
name, somehow, had soaped his hair into a mohican, and very excitedly
introduced me to some hard looking guys, who held court around the
table. They spoke in Czech, wanted to know why I was living here, how
much was a beer in England, and how much did people get paid?
I went on my usual rant of how things are getting more expensive here,
that "Yes, you have a greater choice. What with the out of town
shopping complexes and what not, but who could afford to shop there?
Only a few corrupt rich, businessmen. Not the workingman or the would
be middle-classes, who want all the newest stuff, tasteless new cars,
mobiles, kitsch houses. But it's all on credit"!
They listened. We argued, Radek spoke French. I watched T.V for a bit.
Some action film. I grabbed a last fag before the door was locked. I
was given my drugs and told to go to bed. I could read, we had bedside
lights. I read a few readers digests. My roommates were all away with
the fairies. I slipped out to the toilet. The main room was quite,
empty and dimly lit, a bright light squeezed through the half closed
door, behind which could be heard gossiping and giggling. Radek's
mohican poked out from round his door. He gestured a smoking action. I
nodded. He nodded in the direction of the toilets. I gave him a few
fags and we lit up. This was like Tom Brown's school days! He sat in
one cubicle, I in the other. He whispered away in his unfathomable
French, I whispered back in Czech. A nurse came in as I stood smoking
at the sink. She was about to give me a bollocking when she realised
that I was the foreign guy, and stopped. She then turned to Radek and
had a big argument with him. I slinked off to bed, and thankfully
dropped off.

Woken at 5.30ish. Long line of guys at the showers, new uniforms. Long
line of guys to the drugs room. Blood pressure and heart beat taken.
Breathalysed for signs of booze! And where would I get that from
exactly? Drugs given. We sat for breaky. My table looked on excitedly
for signs of extra grub coming their way. I didn't oblige. Bread and
Jam, porridge and a banana. My appetite was coming back. Some went
outside.
I quizzed one of the hard looking guys.
"What is this place"?
"Alcohol rehabilitation unit".
"How long have you been here"?
"Three months".
"Three months'! Fuck! How you feeling"?
"Much better'. 'I am able to do my business now".
I didn't ask what business, it wasn't the asked thing!
"It is a good place, but there are some guys who should not be here.
Some of them need different care".
I went back into the main room. The guy who had been pacing up and down
since I had been here, had now sat down and he was crying. There was a
guy in the fish room, writing and reading. Studying for a computer
course.
On the wall there were leaflets and wall-charts about diets and foods
and parts of the body. Recipes for dishes, the recommended daily
in-take of fruit and veg and a recipe for a drink.
A Caribbean punch. Fruit, sugar, spices and RUM!
I bid farewell, and gave away my fruit and toilet paper. Dressed, I met
Radek on the way down those lovely sweeping stairs. We shook hands and
I gave him all my ciggies. It was the least I could do. "Ouvoir
Monsieur"!