At least I tried, mum...

My brief career as a drunkard may be over.
Yesterday I got through three bottles of vino and Campari, and I now have second-hand cheesecake on my curtains, and a liver the size of Swindon.
Part of me would love to take the path of my mother, and two of my grandparents, and several uncles and cousins, and live my waking hours in the comforting arms of oblivion, but I lack the necessary constitution. The more I drink, the sicker I get, and that may sound obvious to most of you, but it’s like a scientific breakthrough worthy of Einstein for me this week. In a welcome moment of clarity, I could see my life this week becoming my life each week for a decade.. If you drink all day you do even less than before, you have even less money and your prospects of changing both those factors is zero. So after three days of blissful escape, followed by three days of chaos and chest pains, I have given up the plan to be a piss-head. (You see – even when I set myself minimal goals I can’t achieve them or stick to them)
On a lighter note – literally – drinking all day and not eating properly has seen me shift a few pounds in weight, so maybe now’s the time to dig the skipping rope out of the garage, and find a second-hand weight bar on e-bay.
I wonder if I can get a gym membership paid by Social Services?

RC 13-10-08
2025 BST