It's less than a week until the end of the fast. Hurrah. Readers will know that I've been looking foward to a slut cocktail (as opposed to a virgin cocktail?) next Thursday.
But I might be wrong. First it was my husband. I reminded him I'm likely out for some drinks on Thursday and he bristles a little. He thought it was Good Friday the fast ended - "Don't fall at the last hurdle," he said.
My turn to bristle. Fall at the last hurdle? I was already planning on relaxing the 'ends at dusk' rule, in order so that I can stroll from office to wine cellars and not have to wait like a numpty until the BBC's sun down report says so. I mean, this might be the one drawback to the long northerly summer nights we have started to enjoy since daylight savings time. Not only this but I've already let slip that I'll be in the wine bar after work to several folk!
So it's to t'internet to find The Answer. Of course, The Answer requires delving into the murkier aspects of Catholic dogma. Apparently, at the Council of Nicea, Lent fasting started on the first Lent Sunday and ended Holy Thursday. But that was, like, 325ad. Then because they aren't allowed to be penitent on Sundays, some bright spark decided it should extend back to Ash Wednesday and, what's getting my goat, Good Friday AND Saturday. Damn, waiting for Sunday to have a drink?
(If you want to see the full run down check out http://uscatholic.claretians.org/site/News2?abbr=usc_&page=NewsArticle&id=9619 )
I'm indignant. I highmindedly dismissed that 'get out of Sundays free' card and now it's threatening to bite me in the arse. Now I'm faced with the prospect of having to go even further to make up the 40 so called days I'll have already surpassed. Because although this Blog is called '40 days in the wilderness' perhaps my eagled eyed readers will have noticed I was in fact planning to abstain for 42. It just didn't have quite the same ring to it.
I'll have to think about this one more. Stay tuned for further reports...
Saturday 31 March 2007
Tuesday 27 March 2007
Am I bored
So I should have written more by now, but I fear the subject matter might get boring. Am I boring, sans vin? The weekend was pleasant, but unremarkable. Gym on Saturday, fry-up and the papers on Sunday. Funnily enough I spent more time than I should have filling out a quiz, the prize of which was a year's worth of fine wine from Berry Bros & Rudd.
Not that I was bored. Nor do I usually spend so much time thinking about wine. But you never know when it might come in handy to know that Sancerre, which usually described a flinty, dry white, can also come in red and rose, due to the region's pinot noir vines. I'm not sad!
Not that I was bored. Nor do I usually spend so much time thinking about wine. But you never know when it might come in handy to know that Sancerre, which usually described a flinty, dry white, can also come in red and rose, due to the region's pinot noir vines. I'm not sad!
Thursday 22 March 2007
Virtuous
I am enjoying feeling virtuous. My mum rang today, and she had a hard time containing her delight - not smoking (quit Almost a year ago), not drinking (albeit temporarily) and when I spoke to her I was on my way to the gym. If I had a theme song right now it would be 'Goody Two Shoes'. Must get that for the iPod. Hi Mum!
And hello to N in Manchester, who's back from MIPIM, the MassIve PIss-up on the Med. Not a great acronym admittedly, but if the letters fit ... or not... N confesses he might not have taken full advantage of the potential for mayhem at the property industry party in Cannes. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me, N. Hope you got a tan. And say hi to Sir T for me.
And hello to N in Manchester, who's back from MIPIM, the MassIve PIss-up on the Med. Not a great acronym admittedly, but if the letters fit ... or not... N confesses he might not have taken full advantage of the potential for mayhem at the property industry party in Cannes. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me, N. Hope you got a tan. And say hi to Sir T for me.
Monday 19 March 2007
Bring in the consultants!
Catching up on some reading this weekend, I happened upon some unusual advice to a boozy staff problem in Yorkshire Business Insider magazine. A questioner writes:
“Senior members of my staff often socialize with each other in the pub outside of office hours. While I think such interactions are good for office morale, I’m concerned at the level of alcohol being consumed and its effects on my company’s productivity. Is there anything I can do to tackle this?”
The situation described brings to mind a place I worked at a few years ago. The socialising was hysterical – almost literally. And regular. Sometimes it coulc be two, three days a weeks spent drinking seriously with work mates. We were a close knit group and in that crucible I forged some lasting friendships. But even the ones with whom you might not have seen eye to eye with in the office were good fun to have a drink with after. At the time I just cracked up the collective drunkeness to youthful exuberance and the 'pressures of media', but in retrospect it was rather intense, even for louche journalist types.
Interestingly, the answer to the questioner’s ‘problem’ is – and I’m serious – to work out a policy “in consultation with a specialist alcohol management consultancy”. I’ll be blowed. Who knew there were such things?
“Senior members of my staff often socialize with each other in the pub outside of office hours. While I think such interactions are good for office morale, I’m concerned at the level of alcohol being consumed and its effects on my company’s productivity. Is there anything I can do to tackle this?”
The situation described brings to mind a place I worked at a few years ago. The socialising was hysterical – almost literally. And regular. Sometimes it coulc be two, three days a weeks spent drinking seriously with work mates. We were a close knit group and in that crucible I forged some lasting friendships. But even the ones with whom you might not have seen eye to eye with in the office were good fun to have a drink with after. At the time I just cracked up the collective drunkeness to youthful exuberance and the 'pressures of media', but in retrospect it was rather intense, even for louche journalist types.
Interestingly, the answer to the questioner’s ‘problem’ is – and I’m serious – to work out a policy “in consultation with a specialist alcohol management consultancy”. I’ll be blowed. Who knew there were such things?
Sunday 18 March 2007
Running a marathon
It’s Sunday and I feel fine. The only reason why this might be worthy to report is I spent last night with C and S and their lovely friend B. Unusual for me, and perhaps C and S, with whom I’ve had a few rather more alcohol fuelled nights out, it was a nice sober night in. C had a few beers, and we all had virgin cocktails. I’d recommend her blend of cranberry, orange and pomegranate juiced with crushed ice. Mmm…
I’ve been doing the virgin cocktails quite spectacularly this week. The bartenders at the Lothian Ladies Spring Lunch on Friday were mixing up something fruity and frothy that went down a treat. Then later, I went out for a few with chaps from work. Feelings were running high – there was added excitement of dressing down at work for Red Nose Day, as well as plates of baked goods that my colleagues brought in to raise further funds (thus a sugar rush). The drink I ordered at the bar had crushed fresh raspberries, mint, lime juice, syrup, topped with ginger beer. The cute bartender made quite a show if it. When he handed it over (well worth the £3, I’d say) two people asked me what it was. Only one looked downcast when I said it was alcohol free but I assured her it would also be terrific with vodka.
I didn’t stay long – I wonder if going to the pub and not drinking is kind of like being the corpse at a wedding. This doesn’t at all reflect on my colleagues, with whom I had the same sort of fun and chat as I would when drinking – except perhaps marginally less candidly affectionate (I tend to get all sentimental and gooey when pissed). But like when I was a vegetarian – oh so long ago – mentioning meat often made people defensive. They’d quickly say, ‘oh, I eat meat rarely/only when I…/because it was for my health…’ any excuse, when I really wasn’t looking to shame anyone, not even by example.
Another S from Manchester, we’ll call her S2 for the sake of clarity, writes and suggests I must be a serious alcoholic. Steady on! I have to admit I thought the ease with which I’m being teetotal was rather a sign that I wasn’t. But then I know S2 doesn’t drink at all, for religious reasons. And for someone who doesn’t drink at all, perhaps drinking on the scale I’ve admitted to in this blog, or perhaps what is considered ‘normal’ for an average 25-45 year old British drinker, might appear to be a vast quantity compared to someone who doesn’t drink or drinks very little.
Of course, I’m watching the cricket world cup today, and Andrew Flintoff isn’t playing against Canada because he had a bit too much to drink after their last match on Friday and fell of a pedalo. Can’t wait to hear more about that story. I’m sure he had a stellar night, but not every one thinks so. Especially Vaughan the captain who pulled him off the team (husband argues it was likely to be coach Duncan Fletcher who banned him. Like it matters).
But maybe it is not other people at the pub who have ambivalent feelings, perhaps it is me. I have to admit to a feeling of smugness. It comes unbidden; it expects somehow, for some reason, apologetic explanations why someone else is having a third pint on a Friday or a champagne cocktail at lunch.
I disapprove of this disapproval. For one I’m so not a reformed character, just trying out something different for a while, meeting a personal challenge. I mean if I was training for a marathon, I wouldn’t look down my nose at people that weren’t. Or perhaps you do, when training for the marathon, relish a certain feeling of superiority to people who don’t. I wouldn’t know. And no I’m not planning on running a marathon.
I’ve been doing the virgin cocktails quite spectacularly this week. The bartenders at the Lothian Ladies Spring Lunch on Friday were mixing up something fruity and frothy that went down a treat. Then later, I went out for a few with chaps from work. Feelings were running high – there was added excitement of dressing down at work for Red Nose Day, as well as plates of baked goods that my colleagues brought in to raise further funds (thus a sugar rush). The drink I ordered at the bar had crushed fresh raspberries, mint, lime juice, syrup, topped with ginger beer. The cute bartender made quite a show if it. When he handed it over (well worth the £3, I’d say) two people asked me what it was. Only one looked downcast when I said it was alcohol free but I assured her it would also be terrific with vodka.
I didn’t stay long – I wonder if going to the pub and not drinking is kind of like being the corpse at a wedding. This doesn’t at all reflect on my colleagues, with whom I had the same sort of fun and chat as I would when drinking – except perhaps marginally less candidly affectionate (I tend to get all sentimental and gooey when pissed). But like when I was a vegetarian – oh so long ago – mentioning meat often made people defensive. They’d quickly say, ‘oh, I eat meat rarely/only when I…/because it was for my health…’ any excuse, when I really wasn’t looking to shame anyone, not even by example.
Another S from Manchester, we’ll call her S2 for the sake of clarity, writes and suggests I must be a serious alcoholic. Steady on! I have to admit I thought the ease with which I’m being teetotal was rather a sign that I wasn’t. But then I know S2 doesn’t drink at all, for religious reasons. And for someone who doesn’t drink at all, perhaps drinking on the scale I’ve admitted to in this blog, or perhaps what is considered ‘normal’ for an average 25-45 year old British drinker, might appear to be a vast quantity compared to someone who doesn’t drink or drinks very little.
Of course, I’m watching the cricket world cup today, and Andrew Flintoff isn’t playing against Canada because he had a bit too much to drink after their last match on Friday and fell of a pedalo. Can’t wait to hear more about that story. I’m sure he had a stellar night, but not every one thinks so. Especially Vaughan the captain who pulled him off the team (husband argues it was likely to be coach Duncan Fletcher who banned him. Like it matters).
But maybe it is not other people at the pub who have ambivalent feelings, perhaps it is me. I have to admit to a feeling of smugness. It comes unbidden; it expects somehow, for some reason, apologetic explanations why someone else is having a third pint on a Friday or a champagne cocktail at lunch.
I disapprove of this disapproval. For one I’m so not a reformed character, just trying out something different for a while, meeting a personal challenge. I mean if I was training for a marathon, I wouldn’t look down my nose at people that weren’t. Or perhaps you do, when training for the marathon, relish a certain feeling of superiority to people who don’t. I wouldn’t know. And no I’m not planning on running a marathon.
Tuesday 13 March 2007
Not pregnant
I like to celebrate Chinese New Year with a group from Hong Kong I met a few years ago - Kung Hei Fat Choi, Year of the Golden Pig! This was my third year. It's nothing major, no dragon parades or anything - just a reception, wine and canapés, a speech by an envoy from HK, plus you receive some sort of Chinese knick knacks (or tat, as my husband would call them). But I'm fond of them, for some reason - I've had a little stone carving of the year's animal suspended on a red beaded string on my monitor at work now for ages.
The trio of chaps who run the event come up from London each year and each year I end up talking rot over drinks with them. We were in the Corinthian, a Glasgow bar and restaurant in a magnificently florid Victorian bank building. This time of course, I stuck with the ginger ale. I chatted to a few new faces and when it came to saying hello to the organisers, the difference between my sobriety and their lack of it was charming. Explaining why I wasn't having a glass of red brought up an interesting insight into the family life of one of my hosts - long story, won't relate it here. Suffice to say he was preparing to go back to HK and probably won't be seeing his 13-year-old son for a wee while. Drinking does encourage people to speak more intimately with others they may only socialise briefly with once a year. More than if they weren't. And that can be a good thing, unless of course you tell too much…
I didn't however get any work done on the train back. Rather than being tipsy I just felt lazy and tired. Think I was in bed by 10.30pm.
It was the Rugby match on Saturday where it would have been nice to have a drink. It wasn't just that my father-in-law, who came up for the weekend, was so gobsmacked I wasn't having a pint, or a whisky or a glass of wine. In fact he kept 'forgetting' and asking me why I wasn't. Lunch, too, in the Scotch Malt Whisky Society on the Friday was amusing, if only for the compassionate way which the nice young waiter took my order for fizzy water, while my husband and his dad had a dram or two. Either he thought I was pregnant or a recovering dipsomaniac.
It would have been nice to have a pint at the pub before we went to Murrayfield Stadium for Ireland vs Scotland (Scotland lost 19-18. It was a cliffhanger all the way through). And it would have been nice to have a glass of Chianti at that great little Italian we had dinner at later. But nevermind.
A press release came through today: A dark little local wine bar, in launching a new cocktail list, is giving away bottles of champagne on the hour every Thursday night through April. They do good seafood too. I think I've decided where I'll go to break my fast!
The trio of chaps who run the event come up from London each year and each year I end up talking rot over drinks with them. We were in the Corinthian, a Glasgow bar and restaurant in a magnificently florid Victorian bank building. This time of course, I stuck with the ginger ale. I chatted to a few new faces and when it came to saying hello to the organisers, the difference between my sobriety and their lack of it was charming. Explaining why I wasn't having a glass of red brought up an interesting insight into the family life of one of my hosts - long story, won't relate it here. Suffice to say he was preparing to go back to HK and probably won't be seeing his 13-year-old son for a wee while. Drinking does encourage people to speak more intimately with others they may only socialise briefly with once a year. More than if they weren't. And that can be a good thing, unless of course you tell too much…
I didn't however get any work done on the train back. Rather than being tipsy I just felt lazy and tired. Think I was in bed by 10.30pm.
It was the Rugby match on Saturday where it would have been nice to have a drink. It wasn't just that my father-in-law, who came up for the weekend, was so gobsmacked I wasn't having a pint, or a whisky or a glass of wine. In fact he kept 'forgetting' and asking me why I wasn't. Lunch, too, in the Scotch Malt Whisky Society on the Friday was amusing, if only for the compassionate way which the nice young waiter took my order for fizzy water, while my husband and his dad had a dram or two. Either he thought I was pregnant or a recovering dipsomaniac.
It would have been nice to have a pint at the pub before we went to Murrayfield Stadium for Ireland vs Scotland (Scotland lost 19-18. It was a cliffhanger all the way through). And it would have been nice to have a glass of Chianti at that great little Italian we had dinner at later. But nevermind.
A press release came through today: A dark little local wine bar, in launching a new cocktail list, is giving away bottles of champagne on the hour every Thursday night through April. They do good seafood too. I think I've decided where I'll go to break my fast!
Thursday 8 March 2007
Working for the weekend?
Four weeks to go. Had lunch with a friend, C, who asked how I was getting on as I sniffed her chardonnay. She marvelled at how long Lent is. Me too, sweetie, me too.
The Sunday papers were quite instructive about abstinence and Lent. I only personally know of one person, P in Nottingham, who is doing it too. But Observer writer Alex Clark, who writes a likeable and funny column My So-Called Week, bemoans her abstinent-for-Lent friends who cause mayhem by ordering mad, non-alcoholic concoctions. http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,2025883,00.html.
And she also reports that some apparently don't do their fast on Sundays, in some sort of dogmatic get-out-of-jail free card, or something. I'll have to check this out although I disdain it - it's not 'giving up' if it's 'once a week'. Durr. I could do that anytime...
On Saturdays, the Guardian's Dr Tom Smith has been taking a stiff attitude to drinking. I notice he's been getting a few variations on the 'are you serious one large glass of wine is the daily limit?' type of letters. Gladly there's light at the end of the tunnel - Dr Tim reports that the liver has "greaat powers of recovery".
http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,,2024073,00.html
Hurrah for that then!
The Sunday papers were quite instructive about abstinence and Lent. I only personally know of one person, P in Nottingham, who is doing it too. But Observer writer Alex Clark, who writes a likeable and funny column My So-Called Week, bemoans her abstinent-for-Lent friends who cause mayhem by ordering mad, non-alcoholic concoctions. http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,2025883,00.html.
And she also reports that some apparently don't do their fast on Sundays, in some sort of dogmatic get-out-of-jail free card, or something. I'll have to check this out although I disdain it - it's not 'giving up' if it's 'once a week'. Durr. I could do that anytime...
On Saturdays, the Guardian's Dr Tom Smith has been taking a stiff attitude to drinking. I notice he's been getting a few variations on the 'are you serious one large glass of wine is the daily limit?' type of letters. Gladly there's light at the end of the tunnel - Dr Tim reports that the liver has "greaat powers of recovery".
http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,,2024073,00.html
Hurrah for that then!
Monday 5 March 2007
Champagne receptions
The invitation was 7pm at Harvey Nichols for champagne and canapes. 8pm three course dinner with fine wines, followed by a 'Splash of Fashion models showcase', then speaker, then fundraising auction and carriages. Pretty full-on for a Monday night, although it was for charity - the Princess Royal Trust for Carers, if you ask.
But we were meeting at 6.30 at one of those new bar/restaurant/club/boutique hotels that have flourished like mushrooms in the dew on George Street. Where once there were Assurance companies, now there are hotel bars. Interestingly I was guest of an assurance company, in a bar that might once have been its offices.
Dressed to the nines (well, in my favourite black silk wrap dress) and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling on the table, I get the barman to mix me a virgin raspberry mojito. It was lovely. Would be excellent with vodka, or indeed some of the Veuve. Again I explain to my hosts I'd usually be delighted to join in but am on the Lent wagon, and many - for we are eight women in the communications business - have given up something for Lent at some point. One woman there who worked for a law firm said she'd once given up shopping for all but necessities and came out with a tidy sum for her holidays. But that she hasn't done it since.
Now seriously, although I have a pictire of Edina and Patsy on my site and this is the second time in less than 2 weeks I've been to Harvey Nicks this is extraordinary, even for me who in the course of my job has recently been to Gothenburg, Atlanta and once got flown out to Prague for lunch. I do not spend much time at all in Harvey Nichols. But it was a fun night. Although all this fruit-based drink and water - what do teetotallers usually have to go with nice food? And please don't say diet Coke because if you suggest that you don't know what I mean.
Now I've long given up the idea that it's a terrible waste to leave a half a pint of beer if you don't fancy it, or have to leave. When I was young and broke of course it was a travesty. But say what you like about HN, the wine on the tables was impressive - the red was in fact a Crozes Hermitage (which if you refer back to my first post..) albeit a 2004. I felt a bit mixed about leaving a full uncorked bottle untouched. Nevermind. Of the 90 or so guests I counted at least 5 or 6 multi-millionaires of my acquaintance. Perhaps that is what multi-millionaires do.
After, I did go back with my hosts to the bar we started in. They ordered another bottle of Veuve and me another fruit-based drink (for the lady, thanks Al Murray). Clicquot surely knew it was worth it to sponsor those awards for women in business. It really is the bottle to buy women at about the £25/£30 mark (or if you're drinking on George Street in Edinburgh, £40).
My host had enjoyed the evening's libations - she had more than 2 to 3 units, to say the least. I looked her in her bleary blue eye. She got a bit emotional about a mutual friend whose wife had died, spilled a bit of champagne on her front, joked loudly about how she should go back up to a schoolmate at the bar who had been rude to her and give him what for. Then we both left in a taxi at about 11.45. I was her, not too long ago.
But we were meeting at 6.30 at one of those new bar/restaurant/club/boutique hotels that have flourished like mushrooms in the dew on George Street. Where once there were Assurance companies, now there are hotel bars. Interestingly I was guest of an assurance company, in a bar that might once have been its offices.
Dressed to the nines (well, in my favourite black silk wrap dress) and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling on the table, I get the barman to mix me a virgin raspberry mojito. It was lovely. Would be excellent with vodka, or indeed some of the Veuve. Again I explain to my hosts I'd usually be delighted to join in but am on the Lent wagon, and many - for we are eight women in the communications business - have given up something for Lent at some point. One woman there who worked for a law firm said she'd once given up shopping for all but necessities and came out with a tidy sum for her holidays. But that she hasn't done it since.
Now seriously, although I have a pictire of Edina and Patsy on my site and this is the second time in less than 2 weeks I've been to Harvey Nicks this is extraordinary, even for me who in the course of my job has recently been to Gothenburg, Atlanta and once got flown out to Prague for lunch. I do not spend much time at all in Harvey Nichols. But it was a fun night. Although all this fruit-based drink and water - what do teetotallers usually have to go with nice food? And please don't say diet Coke because if you suggest that you don't know what I mean.
Now I've long given up the idea that it's a terrible waste to leave a half a pint of beer if you don't fancy it, or have to leave. When I was young and broke of course it was a travesty. But say what you like about HN, the wine on the tables was impressive - the red was in fact a Crozes Hermitage (which if you refer back to my first post..) albeit a 2004. I felt a bit mixed about leaving a full uncorked bottle untouched. Nevermind. Of the 90 or so guests I counted at least 5 or 6 multi-millionaires of my acquaintance. Perhaps that is what multi-millionaires do.
After, I did go back with my hosts to the bar we started in. They ordered another bottle of Veuve and me another fruit-based drink (for the lady, thanks Al Murray). Clicquot surely knew it was worth it to sponsor those awards for women in business. It really is the bottle to buy women at about the £25/£30 mark (or if you're drinking on George Street in Edinburgh, £40).
My host had enjoyed the evening's libations - she had more than 2 to 3 units, to say the least. I looked her in her bleary blue eye. She got a bit emotional about a mutual friend whose wife had died, spilled a bit of champagne on her front, joked loudly about how she should go back up to a schoolmate at the bar who had been rude to her and give him what for. Then we both left in a taxi at about 11.45. I was her, not too long ago.
Sunday 4 March 2007
The bitter end
Thanks Peter for the nagging. I probably should be blogging everyday! Less copy more often, better.
Thursday was a watershed. Out for dinner with friends at a nice restaurant in Bruntsfield. Luckily they are an entertaining, easy-going, social bunch, and M wasn’t feeling that well so she too stayed on the Appletiser and fizzy water. I was surprised at the lack of difference in the evening than if I’d been drinking. Although the lamb shank would have been brilliant with a glass of red. Yet after dinner, pudding and an espresso, I started to feel a bit jaded, as if the evening would be better drawn to a close. But as it was after 11pm on a school night, that was probably because it was better drawn to a close.
Otherwise, the husband usually has to coax me away. Or, if I’m out without him, I stay out too late. I didn’t once have the nick-name ‘bitter end’ for nothing.
...
Yet I have to make sure I don't forget about this booze fast. When I became a vegetarian in my teens (I am no longer veggie, clearly), I used to have dreams where someone had slipped meat into my food. I'd be eating, in my dream, and realise what I was eating was meat and feel terribly, terribly guilty.
This didn't happen on Saturday, but my husband and I went out for a walk. A clear, chill day at the start of March in Ediburgh is a good time to go up on Blackford and the Braid hills - some rather good views up there. Part of our route included a smashing pub - a former stables next to the Morton Hall. It's in a lovely cobbled courtyard that catches the afternoon sun. On the way there, I had the thought 'I'll have a pint'. It took me a good ten minutes before I realised 'wait a second, no I won't'. So with any luck, I'll be able to remember that I'm not drinking for the next five weeks before I put a glass to my lips out of sheer habit.
And thanks to the lovely R, from Devon, who suggests that people should more often suggest going out not drinking. Good idea. A cup of tea, R? And H, a solictor in Manchester who warns that she found after a period of absintence the much looked-forward to drink is a bittersweet event, as you know it's bad for you. If so, her estimate that a glass of red solves this problem sounds about right to me!
Slainte!
Thursday was a watershed. Out for dinner with friends at a nice restaurant in Bruntsfield. Luckily they are an entertaining, easy-going, social bunch, and M wasn’t feeling that well so she too stayed on the Appletiser and fizzy water. I was surprised at the lack of difference in the evening than if I’d been drinking. Although the lamb shank would have been brilliant with a glass of red. Yet after dinner, pudding and an espresso, I started to feel a bit jaded, as if the evening would be better drawn to a close. But as it was after 11pm on a school night, that was probably because it was better drawn to a close.
Otherwise, the husband usually has to coax me away. Or, if I’m out without him, I stay out too late. I didn’t once have the nick-name ‘bitter end’ for nothing.
...
Yet I have to make sure I don't forget about this booze fast. When I became a vegetarian in my teens (I am no longer veggie, clearly), I used to have dreams where someone had slipped meat into my food. I'd be eating, in my dream, and realise what I was eating was meat and feel terribly, terribly guilty.
This didn't happen on Saturday, but my husband and I went out for a walk. A clear, chill day at the start of March in Ediburgh is a good time to go up on Blackford and the Braid hills - some rather good views up there. Part of our route included a smashing pub - a former stables next to the Morton Hall. It's in a lovely cobbled courtyard that catches the afternoon sun. On the way there, I had the thought 'I'll have a pint'. It took me a good ten minutes before I realised 'wait a second, no I won't'. So with any luck, I'll be able to remember that I'm not drinking for the next five weeks before I put a glass to my lips out of sheer habit.
And thanks to the lovely R, from Devon, who suggests that people should more often suggest going out not drinking. Good idea. A cup of tea, R? And H, a solictor in Manchester who warns that she found after a period of absintence the much looked-forward to drink is a bittersweet event, as you know it's bad for you. If so, her estimate that a glass of red solves this problem sounds about right to me!
Slainte!
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