I had had a relatively good week leading up to it (hooray a short work week), a day off work on Wednesday to go on a 'gal's day out' with my mama and then at the end of the next work day, I went to a very enjoyable live concert with him-indoors, not bad considering I swore off live 'pop' concerts last year for many and various reasons. Also this week I had a good night out on Tuesday, when I quaffed a large amount of red and then on Thursday night, at a loss for anything else to do, had another two glasses of questionable red in a plastic glass. I wasn't going to drink on Tuesday night but I was with the same friends on the preceding Friday at another retro gig at the same venue. I was in one of those really bad (cumulative Friday 5pm work) moods and decided the only way to be sociable was to drink through it - previously a winning strategy - and the bar we started out in had a very good happy-hour. So before I even got into the gig I had downed at least 5 glasses of red. Inside the venue I got through at least 3 more reds = pissed. As a result my previously bad mood, alleviated through 2-5 glasses of red, showed its ugly head again, inevitably through glasses 6-8 of red. But I was never NOT going to drink my fill - and here lies the problem and I really SHOULD know better!
Despite being able to see the act (for a change) I still wasn't happy as I felt the sound quality was rubbish and although loud, the vocal of the lead singer really lacked clarity, still in my mood I had to have something to moan about. So after spilling a little red down my front (classy) and probably having a little weep (even classier) I said cheery-pip to my red consuming partner and repaired for home. So as usual I was determined to get the train and got down to the platform and my mood was further inflamed by the fact that I the train was at the platform but even as I got to the door and pressed the button, I missed the window of opportunity to get inside the train by about 20 seconds and my personal carriage left the station without me!! Amazingly, in hindsight, I had checked the train times earlier and knew that was the last one from that station and so had to high-tail it to the main station for the penultimate train that night. In my haste I fell up the escalator at some point and quickly (staggered) to the next station and managed to get a seat and get home. I have vague recollections of my journey home and recall looking, perhaps staring, at my Friday night drinking companions and in particular a couple in the seat opposite me, I was no doubt judging them all, my favourite commuting hobby. I then managed the double-whammy of actually getting off at the correct stop and when I got home I didn't make a complete nuisance of myself with himself and took myself into the computer room to surf and have a midnight feast. Thankfully there was no more red at home as no doubt I would have carried on...!
The next morning I had the usual alcoholic guilts when I saw the red stain on my top, saw the huge bruise on my arm, the cut on my hand and the massive (and still painful over a week on) bruise on my shin-bone. I was surprised that otherwise I had a relatively minor hangover, but that midnight feast and a few pints of soft drink probably helped avert the hyper-tension. So I had all the usual "I'm never drinking again" talks to myself, however, ironically I had previously organised a romantic evening away.
For my last birthday, my lovely M-in-L purchased me a voucher for dinner and/or wine at a vineyard in the country. So that meant I would say farewell to red in a fitting way by having a quiet, romantic, grown-up, refined dinner with quality red and that would be that. It was a lovely meal and the wine was available not at restaurant but vineyard prices. So we had two bottles of their excellent Cab-Sav. However I kept the screw cap and as himself had had enough, I took two-thirds back to the (very stylish farm B&B apartment) to finish off there. My master plan worked as my greed - which is ever present - had hoped for the rest of the bottle and my sensible, mature partner had decreed that it was "... all mine, has I have had enough...". I should have been manoeuvring himself into a romantic clinch but instead he fell asleep whilst we watch telly and I had my romantic clinch with my main man - red!
So fast-forward to the following (last) Tuesday, all day I was resigned not to drink at the pub but after doing the usual rounding up of the posse, felt unsure how it was all left with my Friday night mates i.e. had I insulted them prior to retiring for the evening. So dispute my resolve all day, I then did a U-Turn and drank to excess to smooth any wrinkles. Eventhough I established fairly early on that all was well and they were probably just as pissed as me and so not completely pissed off and judgemental, I carried on down the red path anyway. Go girl! I can't really remember the end of the evening but again got home OK and did the usual midnight feast routine. However this time I did NOT get away with it. I surveyed my bar tab with interest, I had purchased two bottles and two glasses of red and I know that at least 2 (maybe) 3 other bottles were purchased - bad. Well I had to be up relatively early as I was having said day out with mother and two train journeys to look forward to. Now whenever I have a hangover, almost the worst place to be is on a train, particularly one I can't escape from (i.e an express) as when hyper-tense, I always feel claustraphobic. So I visited my second favourite purveyor of sugar, had a strong hot chocolate and a yo-yo biscuit - which looked great but I didn't enjoy as it was so greasy. Poor me. But the train journey was relatively bearable but the tension seemed to get worse as the day progressed and I left it too late to eat and so my low blood sugar level combined with my high blood pressure was not good news. Anyway time is the great healer and slowly but surely I recovered post lunch. Then dispite all of the above, I still had two reds on Thursday night.
Fast forward to now and the point of this little tale (to myself for future reference and reflection) comes the first day of my holiday with myself, it coincided with Good Friday. Because I was out so much last week, provisions in the house were low and himself was only concerned with getting himself ready for provisioning his trip. GF has a effect on retailers similar to CD and so almost nothing was open. I did manage to get some food but on GF, no outlet can sell booze by law and for some reason (well out of routine as it is always forms a major event on the itinerary of my holidays with myself), I wanted red and I was probably going to procure two bottles. But it wasn't to be and as a result and because I knew I had some G&T mix at home, I didn't have a trantum in the supermarket when I saw the sign that read - we cannot sell liquor today by law. Like the baby that I am I certainly had a pout on but ironically as the night progressed I thought about the situation more and more and realised what a problem I have. I didn't have any G&T and although there was a bottle of white and champagne in the house, they were not red and so I wasn't even tempted by the demon drink.
As the character of Carrie on S&TC once said .... we have had some great times and I was hoping to have a whole lot more but it is just over. ..... I am paraphrasing and she was talking about cigarettes but it is the same feeling. I managed to kick that addiction back in 2004 (last fag at 6.15pm on Sunday 15th September) but what spurred me on then was pain.
Red is just not as much fun anymore and I have to be the grown-up and just stop hurting myself. Not least because I have another red to worry about and I know he would be pleased that I was healthier. But ultimately, my body is not longer able to process red like it once did and as I have no 'off switch', it just has to go. So like a bitter sweet relationship, I have to move on for the sake of my wellbeing.
FAREWELL, parting is such sweet sorrow!
No comments:
Post a Comment