OPPS I DID IT AGAIN!!!

This has nothing whatever to do with Britney's classic track.  But today I am sitting here typing with a thumping head which is hyper-tension caused by over indulgence last night at the pub.  I have to REMEMBER that I am a kid in a sweetshop at the public house and stop drinking and grow up.  When I was typing the previous posts about my red wine habit I did feel fairly determined but over the last month or so I have been more and more indulgent and surprise surprise, got more stupid (or stupefied) and fat.  I am still in pain and only a walk outside for 30 mins and a portion of chips .... has made me feel a tiny bit better.   So will I actually bloody stop this time, clearly (and similarly to my attempts to stop smoking in years gone by) cutting down is just not a workable option.  I am hurting and I have to be very careful as my blood pressure high and wants to burst forth from my ears - I can feel it.   

I have been invited to a 3-day binge event - well that wasn't how the invite was extended but it involves those with whom I was drinking last night and I know exactly how it is likely to pan out and I just have a feeling that going away with them for a long weekend house party that involves so much drinking, ultimately wouldn't be enjoyable, or at worst, I might not recover from it. 

I have NO willpower.  I have NO off-switch.  I have NO bloody sense.  I have NO control.  Not as bad as when Britney went off the rails a few years ago and kept going our on boozing sessions in short skirts and no knickers, but the potential for trouble is at ....           DEF CON 1

I think I will have to be honest with mien host and decline the fun and frolics. 

My head is still thumping and not in a good 'Bambi & Thumper' way.... ahhhh.  I might now have to consider consuming sugar in the form of a picnic bar.  This is the other problem with recovery, I would never normally consider such unhealthy snacks but so far today I have had a good start, fresh fruit & plain organic yoghurt but the train journey in was pretty horrible and claustrophobic and so at the station is was a hot spinach and ricotta roll, a (free) tall Signature Hot Choc and then the herb covered hot chips and now a caramelised onion & gruyere tart - so far I am resisting the chocolate bar. - talk about 'middle class' recovery food, I never was one for a greasy spoon fry up and tea in a chipped mug.  I used to get hangover cravings for very cold diet Coke back in the day but I think it was usually a Sunday lunch time meal in a pub or hours of toast & Marmite. But of course this all adds up to calories and FAT.

I am now over 12 stone and at somewhat of a short-arse, so is just not sustainable! 

The benefits of drinking: social glue; the lovely detached feeling from reality; alter-ego; lovely taste (if the wine is half way decent!); fun and good times. 

A day without wine is like a day without sunshine

The downside of drinking: overindulgence leading to - feeling hideous; guilt; binging leading to fat; high blood-pressure; liver disease; obesity; diabetes; accidents; injuries; dangerous situations; talking bollocks; being a nuisance; a bore; a tedious twat. 

Alcohol is a good preservative for everything but the brain 

ALWAYS DO SOBER WHAT YOU SAID YOU'D DO WHEN YOU WERE DRUNK, THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHOUT

AVOID USING CIGARETTES, ALCOHOL & DRUGS AS ALTERNATIVES TO BEING AN INTERESTING PERSON

HERE IS TO ALCOHOL: THE CAUSE OF, AND ANSWER TO, ALL OF LIFE'S PROBLEMS

REMEMBER

In the future I will consider them as people I once knew ...

Friends, mates, muckers, pals, buddies, acquaintances, people I once knew (or just saw a lot in job/s, in my hood, just bumped into a lot going about the week's routine).  What constitutes a friend?  Lately I have been wondering if I should be more discerning, the old quality over quantity thing AND CULL?

However some 'friends' bombard me with those emails reminding me of the value of friendship.  The image below is not an excerpt from any of those rather it illustrations the fact that I currently find myself on the horns of a dilemma. 

Being in a new city, job etc it has been felt necessary over the past few years to 'make [new] friends'.  It is part of the requirement, how could I possibly do without them.  I still try to maintain my old friendships through emails, postcards, birthday/Christmas cards the odd Skype call but it does feel a little one-sided on occasion.  Is it the responsibility of the person who has left the routine, the safe circle of friendship, to keep these fires burning?  I guess it is only natural to keep up close contact so soon after leaving and before a new life and routine is established but I am not sure why the compulsion is so strong.  Also so many so called experts on quality longevity go on and on about the importance of human relationships and indeed the value of  making continuous connections.  But at the moment I am just not feeling it, in fact it has been a long time coming but for many and various reasons I am emotionally disengaging.  In a nutshell many of my so called 'mates' are just pissing me off.

I guess it all goes back to ego and the perceived need to be liked and so by extension have to prove it by having such a large number of friends - along a sliding scale of importance of course - yes it goes back to the ego and the dynamics of the primary school playground.   I see so much evidence around me especially in the new social media sphere.  We are no longer content to have 2-10 good pals that we variously go out with or call, write to etc.  Now we must have literally hundreds least we be classified as a 'loser'.  A terrible Americanism but the sentiment is universal.  I must have strong ego, although I am unaware of a way to measure it, but reflecting upon it, it is like having a gang when you are very young.  It validates you and I am not sure how that starts.  But however it started, I should by now have grown up, got over it and ceased to need the gush of (often disingenuous and insincere) 'mates' to make me feel like an OK person.  And do I really care anyway?  That is the tough call. 
I was out tonight with a mate, Tonya, whilst we were walking to our place of chosen entertainment, I heard a busker say very clearly (perhaps not to me directly but nonetheless it struck a cord) "...the power of attraction, you attract like to like..."  I have to say in that moment I knew that I didn't really want to be spending time with Tonya, I just felt obliged and we have one thing in common, so she is the mate that shares my enjoyment of comedy shows.  Is it just that I am using her, do I really enjoy her company.  Do I just see her to add her to my list of 'mates' to enjoy the gossipy, soap opera nature of her life dramas?  I accuse himself of being a voyeur the way he pours over Facebook, but although I am doing it in 'real-time', does it amount to the same thing/vice?

I feel a list coming on:

Tonya - self-obsessed, greedy, drama queen, eats like a pig, materialistic, selfish, a generous entertainer

Lisa - marter, talks up her past careers and lifestyle  - been there, done that , got the T-shirt, hypocondriac, good strategic networker, dynamic an amazing survivor but an A1 bullshitter - which insults her mate's intelligence

Sharon - selfish, good fun, childish, superior, emotionally stunted by family circumstances (a great case for a psycho-analysist), catholic ingrained guilt, kind to strangers and those in need, could be a great leader, emotionally needy, makes my dependence on red wine seem like I am just not trying.

Mary - it really is all about her, her, her - but I think she is 'mindful' of that and tries to do better but just can't fight who she really is.  Good person but has the 'Marilyn Monroe' complex, just has to be desired and put on a pedestal at all times otherwise life is perceived as bearly worth living.  A material girl but also extremely capable, warm and generous/matenal person, good company - as long as you mostly talk about HER and she is showered with accolades.

If that busker was right, I am in real trouble!

I love them really......

Stop Whining!

I was excited this week as I had the prospect of a few days by myself coming up.  Him-indoors would be away doing sporting things with some mates and so I had a holiday with myself.  This happens about 4/5 times a year on average and when I know one is coming up I usually try to minimise diary commitments to thoroughly indulge in some 'me' time.  The usual routine is housework, at least one project, at least one lie-in and perhaps a beauty treatment and then eat whatever the hell I fancy and drink a damn fine bottle (or sometimes 1 through to 2) of red.  Well mostly bog standard quaff able red.

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!

SUFFERING FROM CENTURIES OF TAMING

A very dull week at work topped and tailed by two close friends having extremely dramatic weeks in their respective working lives (I almost typed careers but that is a gross mis-representation) I am starting to think that post-feminist, Gen-X women, may have been sold a pup.

So one person lost their job because the management concocted a loophole to change the status of the role and in effect create a redundancy.  And the other was persuaded around a year ago to take a faux promotion as she had experienced trauma in her life and on her return to work, they just couldn't handle it and wanted her gone, somehow, anyhow.  My take on it of course but it has resulted in the same thing and I persuaded her to speak to and join the union.  Within six weeks she had the redundancy she really wanted and was paid off.  So ying & yang but it left me just feeling angry for both of them that despite their skills and talent, they have been made to go through very stressful times as the organisations we all work for are so badly managed and the passive/aggressive approach seems to be the order of the day. 

It doesn't seem to matter where I work, communication is always poor and few seem capable of managing difficult situations or conversations well.  Am I any better?  I am certainly mindful of it and strive to improve.  I certainly cannot do any worse than the existing management, who only seem to get their jobs by virtue of success in other areas but never have proven people management skills.

WHY IS IT SO HARD.....?

A quick surf of the management sites have proved quite amusing:
1. Bad bosses 2. 10 Difficult employees and how to handle them 3. Get insanely motivated 4. A Good Manager?

What got me started thinking about this was the fact that just over a week ago I went to a concert to see an entertainer who enthralled me when I was a 'bobby-socker' but instead of being enthralled all over again, it left me feeling a bit desperate and depressed.  Not that both me and he were just so much older, he was great, he put on an amazing show - looked fantastic, sang and moved well - but it had just been a bad week because of all the anger I had absorbed and I had no out-let for it.    I know Mr Ant too has had a bad time post his early success and I was very excited to see him perform (and secretly very happy to be in the same room as him). 

Mates

Just been to a friend's birthday dinner, a very significant birthday for a woman!  I think she had a good time and she was very generous and paid for the lot.  It was a good night and she enjoyed in particular opening her presents at the end and the real her came out as she ripped the wrapping off the various gifts.  I could imagine her as a small child opening presents with the same anticipation.  It was a good girly haul, but I noted that our humble elegant crystal necklace was appreciated but paled into insignificance compared to the Gucci jewellery, Prada perfume and Chanel make-up, still her other mates know her well.  She is a self-confessed shopaholic and loves the labels.  However as she ripped the wrapping she was veracious, and reminded me of a slathering beast devouring a carcass.  An honest reaction I suppose. 

I am not a labels person and I know it is not generous of me, but I can't help feeling is it is yet another opium for the masses!  Looking around the room at her other mates, there was a lot of straightened long hair, high heels, leopard print and people discussing the calories in the birthday cake.  It was a good evening, I chatted to people I already knew and briefly chatted to a few I didn't and we had a good feed and drink and got a lift home - nice.   It was hoped that a few of us at least would go out for a large night doing karaoke and more drinking but it wasn't to be.  Shame.  So home by 1.05am.

And the little one said "roll over"...

Got back into bed in the wee small hours (5.30am) to find that Himself and Madam had either mysteriously moved during my brief absence or I realised I had had my portion of the bed reduced to less than a third for hours.  Then Madam started licking herself loudly (perhaps I am just jealous) and so I got up and left them to it.  It is odd how the mind works, as I got back into bed I had a memory flash through my mind, a night 30+ years ago in Great Yarmouth.  What......!  Not exactly a salubrious or exciting holiday spot that would attract the idol rich of the world but it was nonetheless an incident that was an important part of my sexual history. 

I have searched for the holiday park and it is still there - Caister of course.  The memory that flashed was the night I spent leaning up against a sofa or sofa bed in the living room, that had a drunken boy sleeping upon it with little or no room for me to sleep on their either and so I dared not wake him, move from my station or barely breath least the bubble burst?   When he finally woke up he asked why I hadn't climbed up next to him but I just couldn't.  It was a typical, tired two-bedroom Hi-De-Hi chalet that I shared with a close friend and her older sister - it was my first holiday away from mum & dad and it involved boys and so we pretended to be grown ups for a week.  We all snagged a boy to play with, I presume relatively early on, and the sister had her room so mate and I had to share a twin room and we probably pushed the beds together and had privacy with said boy alternate nights.  I have a vague idea my blond bombshell was called Terry (how 1980's...) but I am not 100% sure.  My strongest memory of T was meeting in that kid's playground his mate trying to chat me up and when eventually I got rid of him in favour of the cool Mr T, when we had our moment of first (and only hot) interaction, my knees went weak.  I actually do not recall that happening before or since.  I thought about him a lot after that holiday - off and on for a couple of years, particularly as my mate went on to marry the guy I didn't fancy.  My lovely friend never took any pleasure in that turn of events MUCH not surprisingly within a fairly tumultuous year we were no longer friends.

The [temporary] boy[friend] was gorgeous and ticked all my young girl aesthetic boxes.  However he clearly had a girlfriend back in the grim arse-end of whatever inner or outer suburb of London he came from  - although the girlfriend was never admitted to and said rejected mate took great delight in telling me about a month later that it was just 'a holiday thing'.  I don't recall any finessed counselling techniques - and he said it in front of my mates' assembled family whilst we had 'tea' of spam fritters & chips.  Revenge is a dish best served cold. Ah memories. 

Despite the smile the weak knees bring to my lips, the vague memory of our turn in the twin bedroom was, well not worth remembering - such potential, no talent of any description. Still it got me back on the horse and I went home with a yearning heart and a trip to the A&E with alcoholic poisoning which resulted in curing me of my vodka and Britvic orange habit forever.

VICE....!

I have had a love affair with booze for quite sometime now, as the Pulp song goes "...we dance and drink and screw because we've nothing else to do..." well that is part of the story.  It is my only 'vice' left  but currently I am on a sabbatical for a month to 1) be nice to my liver and 2) attempt to lose some bloody weight and 3) reflect. 

Last night I went to a dinner party - the upper working, lower middle class' favourite place to consume bucket loads of cheapish plonk in an attempt to loosen lips whilst still appearing to be sophisticated - I even talked about politics for at least 2-3 minutes - but had no booze.  I am not entirely sure I would have had a very different experience of the evening if I had drunk a couple of bottles of my usual poison and that is the problem - I am just a baby and do not know when to stop.  But interesting, as when I finally stopped smoking my head-off (and I enjoyed practically every ciggie, even during bouts of bronchitis) I am determined not to be a judgemental, sanctimonious bitch when those around me are quaffing & imbibing. 

But just look at it, delicious red wine

The sound of the bottle opening (not so romantic with a screw cap!) back in the old days the struggle with the corkscrew - the breaking dry corks, having to push it down with a knife or other implement when someone (horror of horrors) forgot a corkscrew - I recall one time, early in my drinking career, when the girls got together to 'take the edge off' whilst getting ready to go out and wow the spotty adolescents at the local night spot - having to push the cork down with a hairbrush and then sieving the contents - a lot of effort for warm Liebfraumilch .....!   The other warm white wine episode that springs to mind ..... picture it, a lovely walking holiday in the Scottish highlands, fantasies of beautiful heather covered hills, tranquil lochs (the odd monster), gorgeous highlanders stalking the glens wearing kilts (sans Y-fronts) shooting stags and tossing cabers for our amuzement and in the evening going to wonderful pubs where they have roaring open fires, amazing food and a well stocked bar.  Well that is what the Scottish Tourist Board would have us believe, instead it was midgies, midgies, midges and when we were on Skye we went to into the local town for a beverage and could only find two bars attached to hotels.  I can only recall one of them ..... it was still early, probably around 7pm and it was like walking into a wild west saloon.  Everyone stopped their conversations and turned to look at us enter, there were about 10 other customers, I assume locals, one couple propping up the bar looked on the verge of a violent domestic and one bloke, on his Todd, face down on his table - presumably resting between bouts of dealing with pints of Special Brew.   We went to the bar and asked confidently for two glasses of dry white wine.  The bar-keep looked at us with a quizical eye, do doubt summed us up as 'Southern-softies'  and proclaimed that whilst he had actually heard of wine, he wasn't sure if they stocked it.  He looked around and discovered a big bottle of something resembling said product, the cork only half way in the bottle, he removed it with ease and proceeded to pour.  It was warm and sweet - my memory is a little hazy after that but I think we took a couple of respectful sips and repaired to the convenience store to get a bottle and drink it in the car - not to get the hell our of Dodge, rather to keep away from the bloody midgies (in the YHA carpark as back in the day you couldn't corrupt the organisation's morals by boozing on their premises).  We listen to the radio for the evening - yet again, listenting to re-runs of the ancient radio serial Dragnet, which was, eating crackers and chesse from a tube, intersected with me smoking and aiming it at the midgies to no avail.  Rock & Roll. 

But after experimenting with many alcoholic varieties since the age of 15, beginning with Martini & lemonade, through to a memorable vodka binge (that cured me of vodka for ever) I settled on red wine.  Considering how significant a part it has played in my life for the last 20 years, I am amazed that I cannot remember the moment of epiphany.  I love the stuff but it has made me do and say some very questionable things over that time period.  I have had terrible hangovers that manifest themselves not has headaches and nausea but hyper-tension and on at least half-a-dozen occasions, near collapse. 

So why do I continue to poison myself?  I guess it is like the smoking used to be, socially acceptable (well not so much anymore), socially condoned and widely available.  A prop to aid initial interaction, lowers inhibitions and makes you feel bloody good about yourself after 3-4 stiff ones.  The trouble is, why stop there.  And that is the problem.

As well as Feb Fast, I am resigned this year to do Dry July and Sober October and give myself a little challenge.  In fact it is the 26 of February as I type and I am feeling totally in control of the situation and strangely, being with very drunk people has stiffened that resolve.   Like the smoking, Alan Carr said.  The way to stop hurting yourself if simple.  Just never have another ......... insert vice ........ Simplistic but powerful.  I have done it first with caffeine, cannabis, nicotine can I actually contemplate saying good bye to BOOZE?