The culture of drink driving tolerance in Europe is today (and tonight) much less relaxed than it was.

I recall times in the UK when, in the 1970s, my friends, most of them police officers, would meet up at the Royal Oak local pub.

Some of the officers were on duty whilst others were not. The local police station backed onto this very busy inn. ‘Where are you off to, Phil?’ I would ask midway through the evening’s heavy drinking session.

He would explain that there was some police work to see to, either taking a statement from a miscreant or attending an incident.

To say we were drunk would be an exaggeration. But without question, we were, by today’s standards, unfit to be behind the wheel of a car. Back then, when officers patrolled, there was what we regarded as a culture of tolerance.

The usual procedure was a finger wagging unless the driver was clearly drunk, then he or she would be breathalysed. The officers, and for the large part the community, felt the balance was right. The jury’s still out on that bar-debate subject.

Recently it was announced by Spain’s Interior Minister Jorge Fernandez Diaz and Director of the DGT Maria Segui that of those tested for drink driving during a recent campaign, only 1 per cent tested positive. 

I imagine that does not include the blind eye, ‘mind how you go, sir,’ results.

My doctor once told me he attends many social occasions. As a teetotaler, he gets more enjoyment from parties than do the drinkers.

He told me; ‘Because I keep my wits about me, I enjoy the camaraderie more with the bonus that I am an amused spectator of those who get tipsy.’

I was on occasion slightly pushing my luck and was glad of the more relaxed approach when I arrived home without being tested.

I reckon I had more to fear from the braying of the holier-than-thou 1 per cent sanctimonious brigade who wouldn’t dab an alcohol-laden dressing on a wound before driving.

I changed with the times: As I writer, I cover a lot of ground across Europe for which I need to hire cars. I also have a lifestyle to consider and concede that being caught positive would be nothing short of calamitous.

Biting the bullet, I decided that the easy-going times were well and truly over.

Having had a good run for my money, I had been fortunate enough to narrowly escape to roadside breath checks: once when I was so inebriated, I failed to see the traffic cop waving me in. (he never chased me, thank goodness.)

RELAXING? ALL I ASK IS A TALL SHIP beats any beer. Click pic for details.

On another occasion, the patrolling cop pulled me over, suspecting I was a drink driver (I was). Then, as he approached my car, a radio message was heard: he was called off the scent by a priority incident.

No one likes to be roadside checked, and I cannot describe the feel-good factor I felt at knowing that if stopped, I had nothing to fear.

Ironically there is a sting in the tail; I did once suffer from a mild attack of gastro-enteritis in the early hours after drinking perfidious Coca Cola. 

Awaiting me in the morning was a missed email from my girlfriend, ‘Enjoy your evening, but avoid drinking Coke.’  You can and should share this story on social media: TELL US WHAT YOU THINK

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