Went on a yachting flotilla holiday with my Dad and Step-Mum when I was 14 around the Adriatic coast of (the former) Yugoslavia. 13 boats that would meet up every night in a fishing town or idyllic deserted bay.
The night in question was a BBQ, a huge glass bowl of nasty fruit punch appeared under a cypress type tree but most of the adults wisely stuck to beer. I was allowed a couple of cups,the last thing I remember was a remarkable sunset.
Apparently after that I was sneaking more and more of this day-glo swill. Fell asleep for a while. Then my step-mum caught me with my head actually immersed in the stuff,drinking for all I was worth. Then I'm told I kicked off big style, thrashing violently on the ground like I was having a fit with my Dad restraining me whilst I shrieked obscenities and mumbo jumbo for over 1/2 hr, like something out of the exorcist except with an audience of around 30 frightened middle class holiday makers.
I was somehow returned to our yacht. In the morning I awoke and vomited whilst prone, straight upwards with inevitable consequences. SOMETHING BAD had happened but I didn't know what.
Soon found out.
Strangely my Father was soon relating this tale with relish to his barfly pals. I came to think it was rather cool myself, accepted that d*ckhead, Jim Morrison as an idol, began getting drunk as often as possible,thinking a drinking problem was the height of Bohemia and reflected my, oh so tortured, soul perfectly.
I had an impetus and chance to avert my life's course then. Didn't take it.
Got (yet) another now, I'm 35,I'm not mucking this one up.