I don't own any of the characters of Ashes to Ashes


They said that alcohol was dangerous; they said it killed you in large amounts, and it made you do things you didn't want to.

They said that it was ok in small amounts... but when were you supposed to stop?

They said it changed the way you looked at things, that you reacted differently, that you saw people in ways you wouldn't had you not been drinking.

They said it wouldn't help the pain, and it didn't work as a medication for unhappiness and hurt.

They said it could make you feel stronger and better.

They said it made you sloppy and useless.

They said it made you feel sexually confident.

They also said it stopped you performing.

They said it made you feel influential and important.

They said it made you slur your words and look like a ponce.

They said it made you reckless and they said it made you free.

They said it made you nervous and sent you to a mental prison.

They said it was dangerous; they said you were better off without it.

They said love was good for you- they said it was a cure for all life's hurts.

They said it could lead to the biggest pain of your like; they said that unhappy marriages lead to alcoholism.

They said love made you higher than any other substance known to man.

They said it could put you in the most negative mindset you had ever known.

They said love was warm, kind, gentle and golden.

They said it could be cold, harsh, brittle and dark.

They said love put a smile on your face as you fell to sleep at night.

They said it could lead to crying yourself to sleep.

They said love was a dream.

They said it could be a nightmare.

They said love was the balm of existence.

They said love lead to most of the pains you'd ever endure.

They said love lead to beautiful sunsets and heartfelt songs.

They said it was cloudy and bittersweet.

They said romance was the key to happy relationships.

They said romance was dead.

They said it was wonderful and that life was better with it.

They said everything came in pairs.

They said mixing drinks was a bad idea.

They said you couldn't be addicted to love.

They said alcoholism was an addiction you couldn't escape.

They said opposites attract.

They said no two beers were the same.

They said you could love someone and not notice.

They said the same about addiction to alcohol.

They said love could lead you to drink.

They said drinking could stop if you found love.

They never said he'd end up as dependent on a woman as he was on his alcohol.

They never told him that he'd associate the colour of her eyes with the whiskey at the bottom of his glass, and down it just to escape the glare.

They never said that kissing her would be like sampling the finest liquor, only to have it snatched away before you could commit it to memory.

They never said he'd come to her at the end of the day and try to drown himself in her, just as he used to drown himself in his drink.

They never said a taste of love was like that first drunken giggle, intoxicating and giddying.

They never said he'd get to the point where every drink he had could be linked back to a conversation he'd had with her.

They never said that when you were in love, it was like being wonderfully drunk as you stumbled and tittered all the way home.

They never said that coming out of a relationship was like waking up with a hangover from hell when you'd swear never to do it again...

They never said that, no matter how many times you told yourself you wouldn't, you'd always find yourself running back for another... just one other.

They never said that if you got hurt in love, it was like cutting your finger on your glass and pouring alcohol into the wound.

They never said that heartbreak felt like that final stage of drunkenness where you fell into a deep state of self-loathing.

They never said you could have a disagreement over your tastes in women in the same way you could have a disagreement about your tastes in drinks.

They never said that love was, in essence, just another social drug.

They never told him that when he met Alex Drake, he was just falling into another addiction.

They never told him that when he lost her, it would be like having to go the rest of his life without drinking.

They never told him that, like the last few drops of whiskey in the glass, he'd have to treasure every small second in case it was his last with her.

They never said love would wrap itself around his brain and his heart and force him to misjudge things in the same way that alcohol might.

They never said he'd meet the embodiment of addiction in a woman who was as dippy as a nutter in a Christmas cracker.

They never said love was worse than alcoholism.

They'd never told him any of that, because surely they could never have known. He didn't understand it himself; she had waltzed in and turned the world upside down, and to begin with it was a buzz, a giddy feeling in his stomach that put a silly little grin on his face as he lay in his bed at night, and he'd wanted more... then it became a nagging presence at the back of his mind. He didn't want her now; he wanted to get away, to escape, but he couldn't... he needed her, needed her reassurance, her comfort... And now it was a gut wrenching pain because he couldn't have her any more; there wasn't any more of her to have... she'd gone... he'd run out of his alcohol and was going cold turkey, and when he closed his eyes at night he had cold sweats at the thought of her touch, got twitches and cramps in his hands as he felt that compulsive need to reach out and touch her... but she wouldn't be there.

She wasn't there because the bar had closed. Lights out, and there'd no lock-ins tonight... just him... alone with his thoughts, with his desperate cravings, racking his brains and wringing his hands as he searched for a way to find her... to get to her, to satisfy the monster that rose in his stomach as he thought about her... He couldn't... he didn't have her anymore... He was out of pocket, out of Bolly... he'd do anything to get her, if he could just have one taste... one touch of her lips... he'd kill for it, he'd steal for it, he'd break in and drink straight from the tap, he'd sell his house and his car if it meant he had the money to get her again... but where was she?

Nobody sold his type of drink.

Nobody sold his Bolly.