“Pollycock” is a semi-autobiographical novel (as in, names have been changed), written by me. Its central character featured in an earlier noveletta, Juniper Green, describing Juniper’s escapades with a church choir.
The novel documents the latter part of the last ten years of my life, from ages forty to fifty. Amongst other things, I: underwent a severe menopause; was in and out of court owing to family and other situations; and was smashed - as in alcoholic - for the vast majority of the time.
This ten-year period culminated in a stint in prison, and then a mental hospital. This followed a series of jaunts which took me to a ramshackle hotel on the east Essex coast, as I led the police a merry dance - then up to Scotland, before the Scots told me to get back on the train to England, as they’d had enough of scraping me off the pavement.
At the secure psychiatric hospital where I was held, I eschewed medication, and instead opted for a programme of psychological treatment, parts of which involved DBT and Substance Misuse modules.
I was released upon completion of my hospital order, having organised my own accommodation and employment. The only snag - which had been viewed with concern by those at the hospital - was that my employer was a vape wholesalers’, and that this environment might trigger further addiction issues.
For myself, I don’t vape; however the majority of my workmates did. It turned out to be a chaotic place, and a death-trap, where the stacks of boxes piled high in the very messy warehouse inevitably leaned towards the centre of any gangway, and could have tumbled down and buried one at any second. There was a radio blasting away at one end of the office, and a Lithuanian woman who shouted all day at the other end, and who gave everyone a headache. Most of the other desk-jobbers vaped all day at their desks, disappearing into clouds of oblivion from time to time, and were oddly emotionally flat, as though the sum total of all their inhalations over the years had conspired to give them a lobotomy.
Needless to say, I was given my marching orders at the end of ten weeks with the words: “There’s nothing wrong with your work ethic; however, we vape - you don’t,” and some words about how I didn’t fit the product.
I wasn’t too bothered about that; however the abrupt firing and loss of income was another bugbear. I did the best thing I could have, under the circumstances. I sat down and finished writing Pollycock.
The process of writing was a wrench; I always feel like I have given birth after finishing a creative project, and have to go and lie down. During the more harrowing parts of writing my account, I almost felt like I was reliving the events of the past year all over again.
The temptation to drink was there, and thankfully I had support services around me, as well as some good friends who had helped me and whom I did not want to let down. In addition, when I did drink I felt so godawful that I thought my liver wasn’t going to last the course, and I smelt dreadful.
So, I snapped out of it, and exercised mind over matter. It took me about a week of feeding my face with healthy eating, multivitamins, and doses of Vitamins B and D, in order to feel like myself again. Malnutrition is always a danger with drinking; as in, alcohol can largely replace food in the daily diet due to the body’s dependency, and its calorific content.
I revisited my book again; this time as a reader, as opposed to a writer. This time around, it was better. I still can’t believe how outrageous it is in places, but on the whole, I think I’ve done a good job. It helped me see the consequences of my drinking, and enabled me to move forward on a decidedly firmer footing. In that way, it was a deterrent to further substance abuse.
What did I want to write it for? Well, firstly, it’s a good story. Secondly, I also believe it can help others with their drinking.
I am not an overly proscriptive person; indeed I’m quite laissez-faire in some regards, and I don’t tell anyone how they should live their life. However, what I would say is that the book is a marvellous illustration of consequences for one’s actions. What it is saying is: here, this is what drink does to your life, and you can either take it or leave it. A question of Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, or Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.
Will “Pollycock” go global? Well, naturally, I’ve always wanted to change the world, so, we’ll see. Yes, it’s a rip-roaring great story, which could make a great film, TV series, or graphic novel. But fundamentally, it’s a great, snappy little study of modern life in the first quarter of the twenty-first century, and thus of huge potential interest to doctors, lawyers, bankers, psychologists, rehab facilities, entertainers, artists, writers, and musicians.
And, of course, of interest to the man out of work, in the warehouse, stuck in traffic, or on the Tube, or on the Deliveroo bike, or the street. This is a book for Everyman - and, for Everywomen, particularly those in the menopause!
Before you say this is my latest reinvention of myself, let me rephrase you: much of what I have said here today is intended to form the template for how I intend to go on. As in, positive, healthy, getting what I need to do done, and NOT drinking. And, encouraging others to do the same, if that’s what they’d like to do.
No, I’m actually serious. I am nearly fifty years old, and that being so, I don’t have much time to mess about.
I may be a little late for National Poetry Day - but here's one of my own, for the hell of it:
THE FEAR FACTOR (From “Pollycock’s Poems”)
I know what it is to have no fear;
No fear means nothing to divest of me.
I know what it is to have no life;
Dutch courage came and took the best of me.
I know what it means to have no shame,
Though I behaved for more than just a minute;
I know what it is to have no fame,
Though infamy for sure has something in it.
I take of life and drink every last drop,
I satisfy my craving while I’m able;
I know what it means to have no home,
No soul with whom to sit around the table.
I know where the sun will set and moon will rise,
And where to find the stars in peppered sky.
Trials cannot break my strength of heart,
Nor power separate me from my Art.
I’ve not been there when justice had me stripped,
My modesty unfairly taken from me;
And from me too, my conscience fairly ripped;
I’ve learned to feel all eyes upon me.
I know what it is to have no screen,
No filter too, no sign of ready news;
Yet wheels still turn in me as a machine,
In preparation for a time to choose.
© Christina Crimari (Brodie) 2023, 2024
“Pollycock: A True Story” by Christina Crimari https://www.amazon.co.uk/Pollycock-TRUE-STORY-CHRISTINA-CRIMARI/dp/B0CVZV59WP
“Pollycock’s Poems” by Christina Crimari
Christina Brodie/ Crimari
24th March 2024
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