‘So it looks like it will be quite a boring January,” said a friend of mine, as one by one we all announced that we were renouncing the demon drink for the first month of the year.
Of course, for some the month isn’t really a month. My husband decided that he would start a period of abstinence after he went back to work, which means that he is three days behind yours truly. Just look at that halo gleaming above my head.
There’s never really a good month if you want to bodyswerve the bevy. There are several birthdays in January which have to be celebrated, including my own. Then there is Burns Night, and if there’s anyone who would have scoffed at us sitting up here on our wagons it is the man himself. There is no doubt that our national bard rarely laid off the whisky. In fact, if he had occasionally done so he might have lived to a slightly older age; perhaps even been able to throw a 40th birthday party. But that’s those creative types for you.
However, I am determined that it won’t be a particularly boring month. I don’t mind going to parties or supper and not indulging in alcohol. The only time it gets tedious is when all those who are quaffing start telling the same stories that they had already told me half an hour earlier. Exactly like I usually do after a few glasses of wine.
One friend has already said that she doubts that she can go to a 12th Day of Christmas party this evening. I find the best way to keep strong is to take the car.
Whilst Scoot’s little chappies on their fold-up mopeds may sometimes be a Godsend, it’s quite nice to be able to pick up one’s handbag and hot foot it to the front door whenever the fancy comes.
I haven’t checked the bookies’ odds on me keeping liver clean until February 1, but I guess they are high. Don’t be surprised to read about my hangovers next week.