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!
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