THE UK calls itself a democracy but it's far from being a free country especially when it unfairly makes me look an alcoholic.
I found another ridiculous example during my Christmas holidays of how the state controls everyday life to petty and meaningless lengths.
Mrs Editor's Chair and I decided to go to Tesco at Loudwater late one evening to avoid the mad seasonal rush for groceries.
The 24-hour store was still busy at just after 10.50pm when an announcement came over the loudspeaker system. Shoppers had until 11pm to finalise purchases of alcohol.
Now I'm hardly a big drinker, but I was desperate to buy a box of my favourite bottled lager.
Otherwise my house would be dry, and there was little opportunity for me to get to the shops again before Christmas.
I contemplated a completely alcohol-free Christmas for a second, and then ran off towards the beer aisle, almost knocking down a few old ladies on the way.
Frantically, I picked up a box of lager and sped back towards a till. It was just closing and they couldn't serve me.
All the other check-outs had queues from here to Blackburn, and there was no way I was going to get through in the remaining six minutes. But a store assistant told me to go to customer services.
I ran through the store again towards the service counter near the entrance, fearing I'd be arrested for trying to flee Tesco with stolen beer under my arm.
Not so. I got to the counter and queued. The nice Tesco lady told me not to worry and that there was just enough time.
My turn came and, to my relief, it was still before 11pm. "You must think me some kind of alcoholic," I joked.
She looked pretty sympathetic though, until disaster of disasters she announced the price. It was way too much because I'd picked up the wrong beer.
I'd mistakenly grabbed an expensive pack of cans, and I hate cans.
I now had about two minutes left before deadline. The nice lady told me that the electronic machine automatically stops any alcohol purchase on the stroke of 11pm. So I couldn't even cheat.
She told me I could do an exchange if I made it there and back in time.
So there I was again, your esteemed editor, running fell pelt through a busy supermarket at 10.58pm with a box of horrible canned lager under my arm.
I hurtled past a barrier that was just being put up around the beer aisle and found my beloved bottles. Then, I tore back through the store and, with my lungs bursting, placed the lager on the service desk.
I was about as knackered as when I hit the finishing line at the last Wycombe Half Marathon.
But in that race I only got a piece of chocolate and an apple; here I got 20 small bottles of beer. For, yes, I'm happy to report I made it with seconds to spare. Joyfully, I deposited my booty into my car before returning to a bewildered Mrs Editor's Chair at the organic vegetable section.
Okay, I admit I'm a plonker and shouldn't have put so much stock in alcohol. But neither should I have an artificial and meaningless deadline imposed upon me in a so-called civilised country.
Who exactly do these antiquated licensing laws benefit? Certainly not the customer or the store.
I suppose a few old soaks could wander in at 2am in the morning, buy alcohol and spend the night on an anti-social rampage through South Bucks. But then that type of person has abundant access to alcohol anyway.
It's time to campaign to end these daft rules that treat us like children. Yes, I'll drink to that providing I can get to the shops in time to buy it in the first place.
