‘It was just another night I couldn’t remember what had happened’
Investigative reporter Guyon Espiner opens up to Virginia Fallon on alcohol, being arrested and setting his own hand on fire. And why he’s decided to reveal all in a memoir.
Guyon Espiner says that had it happened in a movie, his decision to quit drinking would have been prompted by something catastrophic. It could have been a drunken fall from a balcony, maybe a late-night failed breath test or even, God forbid, hurting someone else when he was munted out of his mind.
But when he woke up one Sunday morning and swore off alcohol forever, nothing bad had happened the night before. On the contrary, the evening had been a pleasant one – or so he’d been told.
‘‘It was just another night I couldn’t remember what had f ...... happened.’’
Espiner’s blackout means he can’t remember what his actual last drink was – probably red wine – but that 2019 resolution drew to an end three decades of booze-fuelled good times, adventures and occasional gut-wrenching shame for the investigative journalist. And even though the tales of the former are often hilarious, they weren’t always particularly funny at the time.
His most embarrassing episode happened during a 2007 commemoration for the 50th anniversary of Antarctica’s Scott Base. Espiner and his TVNZ cameraman worked hard for three or four days, filing stories and broadcasting live then, on the last night, hit the base’s bar just as hard.
With the 24-hour January daylight confusing things, his final resting place was a couch in the breakfast common room, a glass of red wine at his fingertips.
‘‘The next morning there I lay, like some stuffed Ade´ lie penguin, as a roll-call of the greatest living New Zealanders bustled in for a hearty breakfast before the flight home.
‘‘Mountaineering legend Sir Edmund Hillary, Chief of the New Zealand Defence Force Sir Jerry Mateparae, Prime Minister Helen Clark, and others great and good were greeted with this pitiful sight.’’
Making matters even worse, another journalist took a photo of the scene and pinned it on the wall of Parliament’s press gallery: ‘‘It’s quite a funny story – if it’s not you.’’
While the Antarctica episode is Espiner’s most shameful drinking experience, myriads more are recounted in his new book The Drinking Game. Partmemoir, part investigation into the alcohol industry, the book details both the 48-year-old’s long journey as a hazardous drinker and his many failed attempts to stop.
Starting was easy though. The first taste came at 10 with a swig from his dad’s can of Leopard lager and although it was four more years until he became a regular drinker, it was then that the connection of alcohol to excitement had been made.
By 15, Espiner and his mates were weekend regulars at Christchurch pubs where their ages were rarely checked. Fake IDs got them into nightclubs and forays into liquor stores were almost always successful.
It was with these friends that the teenager both found his tribe and fully discovered the joys of getting drunk. For the self-described nerd, booze opened the door to a whole new word of belonging, as well as confidence. ‘‘Alcohol was armour,’’ he says. ‘‘And you didn’t feel the fear.’’
Of course there was trouble. By the time Espiner was 20 the group had graduated to drinking harder stuff, often competing for who could down a bottle of spirits before they hit the town. Following a successful effort of his own, the ‘‘complete arse’’ was booted from a city hotel and issued a lifetime ban.
‘‘In my wretched state – drop-down pissed – I got into an altercation and was bundled off to spend the night in a police cell. I still remember waking up and seeing my Doc Marten boots on the other side of the bars.’’
While drinking with friends had brought the teenager a sense of inclusion, it was during an OE in the 1990s that he learned the pleasure of doing it alone.
On solitary half-days off in London, as well as back at work, alcohol soaked further into everyday life. Numerous moderation attempts were stymied by his bar job and fear of missing out on fun times.
‘‘I tried everything. I would not drink wine, then just not red wine, or drink low-alcohol beer until 10pm when I started drinking properly.’’
And while working in a pub was bad enough for the problem drinker, on his return to New Zealand came journalism.
Espiner’s book is almost as much of a love letter to the fourth estate as it is a damning indictment on the booze-soaked media industry of the past. Then, drinking wasn’t just accepted; it was encouraged, and journalists were quick to oblige.
Among the many anecdotes is one highlighting the drinking culture at TVNZ, behaviour that Espiner says went right to the top. ‘‘The chief executive was Ian Fraser, who, after hearing that some staff were charging $150 bottles of wine to TVNZ credit cards, issued an edict limiting spending
‘‘We’ve got a blind spot with alcohol a bit like America has with guns.’’
Guyon Espiner
to $60 a bottle. Of course the memo got leaked and the print media had a lot of fun with the story.’’
There’s also a lot of fun in the book’s hazy recollections of drunken fights, pissed politicians and celebrities, as well as the story of how Espiner managed to set his own hand on fire; but these tales are always funny in the retelling eh?
New Zealand’s high tolerance for boozy behaviour is one of the issues Espiner’s book takes aim at, saying it’s often either ignored or treated as something to be proud of. ‘‘We’ve got a blind spot with alcohol a bit like America has with guns.’’
Going even further, he reveals the high-level marketing and lobbying from the unregulated industry that claims it wants people to drink in moderation but would go bankrupt if people followed the safe drinking guidelines.
While much of the information is startling – particularly the industry’s ties to health fundraisers and sports – Espiner says he’s no advocate for sober living, just keen for other people to know what they should about booze. Added to that is what’s been his own most sobering discovery: the way people react when they discover he’s quit alcohol.
‘‘It’s almost a personal affront to them; the only acceptable excuse for not drinking in NZ is that you’re driving, pregnant or training for sport.’’
There is, of course, another answer: one that Espiner now uses to stop rapid demands for the reasons behind his sobriety dead in their tracks: ‘‘because I’m an alcoholic’’.
And he is, but the fun times keep coming, it’s just that he can remember them all now. He never noted down the date of that Sunday morning decision; has no idea of how many days sober he can claim; though does know he won’t ever drink again.
‘‘Life is good; it’s a bit more jagged now, but it’s real.’’