Rake & Ruin Beaufort 2018

The 18th century in London. A little evening walk along the rugged streets, whose potholes are soaked with thousands of small puddles, in which people like to jump and fall.

I, the upstart of a penniless father and a strumpet, have but the one escape in my dreary and wretched life: Gin.

With a few pennies in my mittens, clutched as if they were my children, I rush straight to my favored tavern after my work is done. The door slams open, my breath catching for a split second.

Smoke, alcohol, sweat, a hint of the animalistic, buried beneath the wooden floor that has seen many a dirty boot and cold winter.

I greet the noses I know, including the boozy ragamuffins who, just like me, try to escape this life every night. The mood is loud, deceptive, and only dear alcohol is able to catch the bitter note in the air and lay its acrid note over it.

I sit down at my regular seat on old Harry. That's what I call my trusty but aging wooden chair, whose legs have more nicks in them than those knocked into the front door by some commotion or other.

I say yes, this shed has seen as many stories as I have words in my vocabulary to call my own.

There is no one at my table yet, nor do I want visitors today. I want to be alone with myself. Alone with my thoughts, which revolve around the stuffiness of life.

I order myself a gin. There's nothing like gin. Gin is the root of all happiness and after just 2-3 drinks, I've arrived in a world where all the clocks are at 12. All the lights shine through the windows. All people are silent.

Finally, I have it. I set the bottle on my table, open the stopper, and savor the aroma of juniper, pepper, citrus notes, and the secret ingredient that makes my breath catch one more time.

The aromas mingle with this old, gloomy and noisy tavern. Should I pour into my glass? Or drink straight from the bottle? - The decision is easy.

I put the bottle on, drink in the morning, drink in the evening, drink at noon, I drink and drink. Forget my worries, forget my anger, I forget everything but you - my gin golden to me.

On this my chair I sit, the bottle empty, the ceiling radiant, the surroundings loud and quiet. I try to order my thoughts, but still they escape my mind - I shout, I laugh, I cry, every single moment of my thought world spreads out in this tavern.

Slowly the eyes close. Slowly the voices fade away. Slowly I slip away from this world.

When I wake up, I am lying on the wooden floor I know. A woman is standing over me and I just don't want to have this unbearable headache anymore. I feel dizzy. I can barely breathe.

The woman standing there is holding baby clothes out to me. I don't really understand her voice, she just says something about baby, money, gin.... And I remember that I too hold my pennies like a baby.

This is my life. This is my downfall.