Well, I don’t know about you but I found the recent festivities somewhat challenging. I didn’t draw a sober breath between 8 November and New Year’s Day which, as my wife Marina kindly pointed out, was neither big nor clever. She’s no slouch herself when the corks are popping so for her to call me a lush is a bit rich, but I took her point and hopped meekly on the water wagon on 1 January.
As the days of sobriety turned to weeks I began to feel rather smug, especially since so many mates fell by the wayside. One chum lasted all of two days; another barely a week until a bottle of fine Beaujolais undid her; and a third told me that far from drying out he felt obliged to drink for two since his wife had done the giving up for him.
And so here we are in week three and I’m clinging on by my fingertips.
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