Finale

Those of us who are about to have a cocktail in the sun, we salute you!

I couldn't have liked it more

Six weeks just flew by. It's all over tomorrow, and you probably already know I've got plans to have a drink after work. I almost regret it's over, but I quickly recover from that.

A report? If I've lost any weight A) it's negligible and B) it's more likely because I've been going to the gym these past few weeks. But my skin looks healthy, and I feel relaxed; socially crutchless and fine for it. The husband says I'm "prettier, fitter, healthier". I've become a bit of a prig maybe. Perhaps I'll do it again next year.

As for this blog, well I can't see doing much more updating on it beyond the next few days - although perhaps I'll pop an update on it every now and then, if it's relevant. If I do Lent again, or go completely teetotal (I'd bet on the former rather than the latter) I'll revive it next time. I realise some (including my husband, and Peter) assumed that the '40 days' of the title referred to 40 daily entries, and were disappointed at my more lackadaisical approach. Maybe it's a guy thing! I was only making an allusion, biblical - natch, to the 40 days Jesus spent being tempted and the 40 days Moses spent on the mountain. It was not a particularly serious allusion, mind. Nor was it even 40 days! Never fear, I'm getting the hang of this blogging and if you're lucky/unlucky I'll let you know where my next one is.

On the penultimate day of my booze fast I'll leave you with these lyrics, some of the best I've ever seen on the joys and terrors of an awfully good party.

I love how it starts off with those bright young things - Nou Nou, Nada and Nell. But poor Millicent arrives with her sensationally decadent comb, then the comparison to the end of the Roman Empire adds to the sugestion there's something a bit more jaded going on. The suggestion they all might be at the same party one hundred years hence is both exhilarating and terrifying. Notice how slowly the revellers start to age and disintegrate? Why else would Freddy be wearing a truss and what did happen to Elise's bust?

Of course, I aspire to be Elsie - indeed, "if you're supple you've nothing to fear" -

Cheers

I went to a marvelous party, by Noel Coward

Verse 1
Quite for no reason
I'm here for the Season
And high as a kite,
Living in error
With Maud at Cap Ferrat
Which couldn't be right.
Everyone's here and frightfully gay,
Nobody cares what people say,
Though the Riviera
Seems really much queerer
Than Rome at it's height,
Yesterday night-

Refrain 1
I went to a marvelous party
With Nounou and Nada and Nell,
It was in the fresh air
And we went as we were
And we stayed as we were
Which was Hell.
Poor Grace started singing at midnight
And didn't stop singing till four;
We knew the excitement was bound to begin
When Laura got blind on Dubonnet and gin
And scratched her veneer with a Cartier pin,
I couldn't have liked it more.

Refrain 2
I went to a marvelous party,
I must say the fun was intense,
We all had to do
What the people we knew
Would be doing a hundred years hence.
Dear Cecil arrived wearing armour,
Some shells and a black feather boa,
Poor Millicent wore a surrealist comb
Made of bits of mosaic from St. Peter's in Rome,
But the weight was so great that she had to go home,
I couldn't have liked it more.

Verse 2
People's behaviour
Away from Belgravia
Would make you aghast,
So much variety
Watching society
Scampering past,
If you have any mind at all
Gibbon's divine Decline and Fall
Seems pretty flimsy,
No more than a whimsy,
By way of contrast
On Saturday last-

Refrain 3
I went to a marvelous party,
We didn't start dinner till ten
And young Bobbie Carr
Did a stunt at the bar
With a lot of extraordinary men;
Dear Baba arrived with a turtle
Which shattered us all to the core,
The Grand Duke was dancing a foxtrot with me
When suddenly Cyril screamed “Fiddledidee”
And ripped off his trousers and jumped in the sea,
I couldn't have liked it more.

Refrain 4
I went to a marvelous party,
Elise made an entrance with May
You'd never have guessed
From her fisherman's vest
That her bust had been whittled away.
Poor Lulu got fried on Chianti
And talked about esprit de corps.
Maurice made a couple of passes at Gus
And Freddie, who hates any kind of a fuss,
Did half the Big Apple and twisted his truss,
I couldn't have liked it more.

refrain 5
I went to a marvellous party.
We played the most wonderful game,
Maureen disappeared
And came back in a beard
And we all had to guess at her name!
We talked about growing old gracefully
And Elsie who's seventy-four
Said, “A, it's a question of being sincere,
And B, if you're supple you've nothing to fear.”
Then she swung upside down from a glass chandelier,
I couldn't have liked it more.

Looking forward

So I've quelled my doubts. I will be having a drink after work on Thursday. But now the serious question - cocktail or glass of red? That was the serious question put to me this afternoon by my colleague D. She will be joining me on Thursday. Shall I take a vote? Your answers on an email to 40daysinthewilderness@gmail.com

In fact I'm a bit worried. In addition to Thursday, I've got a 1994 St Emilion to crack with the husband (mmm... special occasion). Plus perhaps a nice Spanish red my boss, A, brought back last time he was there on a business trip (he interviewed the winery owner). Then my old mate M is coming up with his girlfriend on Sunday, and that might require a few pints...

All this and I'd more or less decided to, not remain teetotal, but certainly have a little more respect for the old liver in future. Will just have to start again. Afterthe weekend.

So close but so far

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...

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!

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.

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?