“Like most journalists-cum-authors, I have had my own bout with the booze, particularly during my 30s and 40s. Fortunately, the combination of a resilient and beloved wife and my dedication to the storyteller’s art pulled me through,” writes columnist ROBERT MACKLIN.  

Whether it’s the big screen or the latest TV series, the opening scene is identical. 

The male star returns home, opens the fridge, pulls out a beer, flips the lid and starts drinking. The female star is even more single-minded. She instantly pours a glass of wine – red or white – and takes that first lovingly restorative gulp. 

Depend on it. Every single time. “Ahh…” you can almost feel that lovely sense of relaxation as her cares of the day surrender to the wonders of the booze.

In an earlier era, they also lit cigarettes. Thank goodness that’s much less frequent these days. But somehow the alcohol industry – wine in particular – has its claws firmly round the throat of the moving picture world for the best possible placement of their product.

“So what?” I hear you cry. “That American beer is hardly alcoholic at all. And the wine… well, that’s not really booze, it’s the nectar of the gods, the mark of true civilisation, a glorious libation with a socio-religious history from time immemorial…”

Sure. But how well, I wonder, would it have survived without the very addictive addition of CH 3 CH 2 OH (ethanol-alcohol). Ask yourself: “What percentage of wine sales are of the ‘alcohol free’ brand?”

I rest my case.

This is not the first time I have explored the issue. Like most journalists-cum-authors, I have had my own bout with the booze, particularly during my 30s and 40s. Fortunately, the combination of a resilient and beloved wife and my dedication to the storyteller’s art pulled me through. 

I once began research for a book on the chequered history of Alcoholics Anonymous with its 100 per cent recidivism. It was helpful to two of my friends, though I decried its demand to surrender to a “higher power”. I even pretended to be a member and attended an AA meeting. I was surprised to see who else was there and though I declined to speak, half the attendees asked to be my “sponsor”. I fled, never to return.

My publisher wouldn’t give me a sufficient advance to travel to the US where AA found fertile ground among the God-botherers, so I wrote my Australian history books instead. But the fascination remained. 

Alcohol is a desperately destructive force in our community. According to the ABS, more than five million Australians are today drinking harmful amounts of booze. 

Our little village at Waramanga has two stores – one an IGA, the other an Australia Post Office – both packed to the gunwales with wine. 

So-called “fine-dining” restaurants make their profit not from tucker but by overcharging for the wine. And when China raises the wine tariff it’s a national tragedy. Yet the drugs such as cocaine get all the publicity though their communal effect – aside from corrupting the police force – is minimal.

But Australia is small beer (as it were) in the wine stakes. Recently we’ve been watching an international Swedish TV series, The Sandhamn Murders, a pretty classy production set in the Stockholm archipelago with (mostly) good scripts and a very attractive cast. 

And here’s the clincher. While hardly a scene goes by without their drinking wine, recently there’s been a change. Suddenly, instead of white or red, everyone is drinking pink rosé. Men, women, morning, evening, anytime. So I checked with Google. And there, an industry spokesperson boasted: “As of spring, we are starting to see sort of a bounce-back in rosé consumption in the US as well as around the world.” 

QED. 

robert@robertmacklin.com