Alcohol

I have one goal tonight.

It’s not to raise money for charity, or to find the love of my life….. It’s to get drunk to the point where I can’t see.

I won’t go into exactly why, but I will say this.
Despite now being married to one of the Rothschilds, my ex-wife ‘Lemon’ has decided that yes, she does want the fucking Dyson back after all.

Anyway, back to the alcohol.

99 times out of 100 I like to take it easy and still be able to get my keys in the lock when I get home. One in 100 times I’m quite happy to fall asleep on the doorstep with my head resting on the letter box.

I ended up that way last weekend, purely by accident. Here’s how it happened.

I was meant to meet some friends for lunch. After a glass of wine or two we decided to have ‘a couple more’ in our favourite pub.

This was at 3 PM.

At 9:30 PM I remember trying to focus on my phone in a kebab shop. I wanted it to tell me what I should say to the man asking for my order.

It was at that point that I realised I was too drunk to stand up. My feigning of a bad back and leaning against the counter was an elegant and discrete solution to the problem.

I don’t remember getting home that night, but I do remember that whatever I ordered was the best thing I’d eaten…….ever!

I briefly cursed myself the next morning when I realised that the next 12 hours were going to be a bed ridden write off, then I thought to myself…..

“Fuck it. Life is for living, even if you can’t remember having done so.”

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Date

I have decided to give up being single for lent.

Last night I re-entered the savage dating arena with an Italian man of great social stature. His actual stature left much to be desired.

I didn’t always bat for the same team. I just can’t stomach girls these days, it happened all of a sudden.

Something flipped a few months ago while trying to navigate through a swarm of trainee beauticians. It was the way they trotted along, holding a huge coffee with an extended arm, a tiny bag nestled in the fold of the other elbow, a french manicured hand facing palm up to the sky. I blame Paris Hilton, she holds herself like she has some mild form of tetanus.

My date’s main topic of conversation last night was his ex. After telling me about their favourite foods, plans for children and bedroom antics  he finally caught on to the fact that the conversation was a bit inappropriate.

“I’m sorry” he said

“…..do tell me about your ex!”