Here’s a weird pickle to be in: I haven’t been drunk for over a month, but I can’t remember the last time I went a day without drinking. The drunk thing is easy to pinpoint; it was my brother’s stag weekend, and we were in some Welsh town, and it was a Saturday night, and I was partly drinking to keep up with everyone and partly drinking in the vain hope that I’d black out and forget what an abjectly terrible time I was having.
But the second part is much more problematic. Last night I had a G&T because we had some gin that needed to be used up. On Saturday I had a drink because I had to live blog Strictly Come Dancing and wanted something to take the edge off what turned out to be a very specific type of horror. I drank on Friday, and on Thursday. On Wednesday I drank in a pub. On Tuesday I drank on my sofa. Just one drink, mind you. At no point during the week did I ever feel the effect of alcohol coursing through my system. Just a small drink as a token reward for getting through another day vaguely intact.
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