My JW parents, who were extraordinarily devout, were great drinkers. My dad would visit the pub most nights, often getting into alcohol fuelled debates with some of the regulars, and even counted the time. He spoke twice to someone and that was a Return visit duly logged onto his weekly time report.
At home there was one of those optic devices screwed to the wall that dispensed a measured amount of whisky when a glass was pushed up against it.
Sometimes, when my dad was keen on getting me to "come to my senses", he'd take me to the Robin Hood in Ironbridge for a friendly chat. His tipple was 2 Gold Label barley wines in a pint glass with a Southern Comfort chaser. It wasn't a cheap night...