I barely remember writing the post “excrement” the other night.
I mentioned we’d been out but not the fact I’d over imbibed to an embarrassing degree. I’m surprised the post makes any sense at all (an update: the terrible smell was merely dog farting, thank goodness).
The more I read about alcohol, the more it appears there is no safe amount, and it’s a nasty poison in any volume. On the other hand, I don’t over indulge very often, and don’t usually do anything too dumb even when I have. No driving, for example. And on Friday night, it even gave me superpowers – I walked home all the way across town (accompanied), oblivious to the fact that my gorgeous high heels were giving me the mother of all blisters. I paid for it the following morning with the mother of all hangovers, of course, and in retrospect I’d have rather forgone the booze, hangover, walk, and blister and just forked out for an Uber – but I’m trying to avoid the guilts, OK? That way madness lies.
In fact, on his show on Friday, Ben Elton was encouraging us all to have a drink in the interval. This was not just to help the venue make a profit in a miserable year for live shows, but also since scientists say that alcohol can take two years off our lives, if that’s two years out of miserable lonely demented old age in a rest home (as experienced by his dad) then that’s no bad thing. There’s a logical flaw in there somewhere but I’m not going to go digging too hard to find it.
