Accidental Drunkenness at an Artist Residency

The stories you are about to read are true. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Jul 26, 2026

It was Deborah’s first night, right at the end of our first year of running the residency. Winter is our quietest season, and she would be our only resident for the next fortnight, so we decided to head into town to see if we could find a vegetarian meal for her to enjoy.

The French seem confused by the concept of vegetarianism (‘We have the salmon?’ I’ve heard suggested when asked what vegetarian options there are), and you have to be very careful not to accidentally consume duck around here!

‘My friend is vegetarian,’ I told the waiter. ‘Are the fries cooked in duck fat?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘C’est pour le goût.’

Well, I know it’s for the flavour, ya fanny, that doesn’t make them vegetarian though!

If truth be told, Deborah wasn’t actually entirely vegetarian. Once a year, she would go hunting with her father in North America, and they would kill an elk. Do you know what an elk is? It’s one of the largest subspecies of red deer. E-nor-mous!

She told us that their meat is lean and higher in protein than beef or chicken, and you can get between five hundred and a thousand meals out of one animal. Wow! She’d freeze it, and it would feed her family for the entire year.

The only meat she’d eat was this animal, which she’d killed and processed herself. That’s pretty admirable if you ask me.

Ok, so where was I? Oh yes, we’d headed into town to a restaurant that had a pretty broad menu and found a decent meal for one and all. The wine was flowing, and so was the chat, and so, despite her jet lag, Deborah welcomed the suggestion of ‘just one more glass’ in the bar on the way home.

At the table next to us was a raucous group of drama students, out celebrating their Christmas break.

‘I’m going to ask them for a cigarette,’ she said as she headed confidently over to their table.

I’m not sure if it was the jet lag, the wine, the cigarette, or (most likely) the concoction of all three, but when we glanced over just a few minutes later…

Deborah was dancing on the table with one of the guys!

We called it a night, and I offered her my arm to steady her as she staggered back to the house.

She’d hired a car in order to bring lots of art materials with her. As Colin unlocked the front door, I turned to see her popping open the boot, then begin unloading the contents. First up, a huge roll of canvas that sent her reeling backwards into the gutter.

‘I think you should unload the car in the morning?’ I suggested as I helped her to her feet and into the house.

Deborah wasn’t the last resident to accidentally get sozzled though. There have been plenty since. Let me tell you about Lisa, who was completely destroyed!

One of the perks of our residencies is the offer of a professional headshot taken by my husband, Colin. A brilliant portrait photographer, in my opinion, and scarcely any have turned the opportunity down. We use these photos for our own marketing, but also many residents have used them on their own website, book sleeve, or social media, which makes us happy.

Colin had arranged to meet Lisa, plus the others in residence at the time, at 5pm for a photoshoot. We’d then get together for a potluck dinner and a little sharing of the work they’d created during their time with us.

At 5.30pm, Lisa staggered through the front door, wearing her shades and a sheepish expression.

She’d popped into the bar in town that’s owned by a Belgian guy and one beer had led to another (and maybe even another?). They have this Belgian beer on tap called Kwak, which is a deceptive 8.4%.

From what I’ve witnessed, Kwak sends you Kwakers!

My pal Frank came over from Scotland once and had two pints of the stuff on his last night. We went round the corner for a meal at the restaurant where a birthday party was taking place. A table full of women and one guy. Frank shouted over, ‘Hey, it’s your birthday? Happy Birthday!’ He went on to repeat this three or four more times over the evening, by which point we feared the guy might be about to come over and lamp him one!’

‘Ces putains d’Anglais’

In between shouting birthday greetings across the room, he cried and told us how much he loved us…

‘I really love you guys!... Sob… Happy Birthday!’

As Frank forced down a double espresso the next morning, he looked up at me bleary eyed to ask ‘Was it someone’s birthday last night?’

Lisa had been attracted to the amber nectar by the distinctive koetsiersglas (coachman’s glass). The glass looks like something out of a laboratory, with a round bottom, and long fluted neck. Because you can’t sit the glass down, it comes with a wooden stand.

It’s such a weird glass that it puts me off drinking from it. Legend has it that it was designed so 18th-century coachmen could hang the holder from their carriage and rest their glass in it between sips. Turns out, it was more likely a smart marketing ploy by a brewery in 1980, but hey ho, there you go.

Whatever the truth, it worked on Lisa and a few glasses slipped down easily.

The photoshoot was a challenge for Colin, as Lisa insisted on keeping her sunglasses on to hide her drunken eyes. She couldn’t stop talking, pulling odd expressions as her eyes wandered everywhere except towards Colin’s camera.

‘Look down, now look at me… Boom! That’s the album cover.’
‘Now try not to talk during this one.’
I could hear Colin’s patience wearing thin.

The dinner and ‘sharing’ were a challenge too, as Lisa ate very little, but poured herself glass after glass of wine. Her words slurred as she read us her poetry and she interrupted others as they tried to read their carefully crafted words.

The other residents had a train to catch the following morning at 9.30am, so despite her train not being until midday, Lisa had offered a few days before to travel with them and spare Colin the extra trip. Great news for Colin as he was in the middle of a large design project for which he’d welcome the extra time.

As she held her hair back from her face, whilst bending over the toilet for the third time that night, the thought of her onward journey must have filled her with dread.

When the sun rose early the next morning, Colin couldn’t bring himself to put her through it.

I can imagine that when Lisa peeled one eye open to read the incoming message at half past seven, it was the best message she’d ever read in her life.

‘It’s ok. Go back to sleep. I’ll drive you at eleven.’

Please hit the ❤️ button.
It makes it more visible to non-subscribers.

Does this story remind you of something that’s happened to you or one of your friends? I’d love to hear about that!

Julia Douglas

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?