So the scales went up a little this morning, which only served to remind me that you DON'T WEIGH YOURSELF EVERY DAY!! I should know this by now, but the thrill of the scale going down a little can make your day. Conversely, should it stray in the opposite direction it's enough to make you feel like sinking down at the door of the fridge and stuffing yourself with cheesecake. Or, if you're me, grabbing a box of cheap wine and taking to the bed with a copy of 'The Illuminati: Facts and Fiction'.
Which brings me to today's topic. Drinking. It has to be addressed I think.
Let's get it out the way. I love drinking - I loved it from the very first time I tried it. For me it turns up the colour of life to 10, it fills me with happiness and love for all, it transforms the dullest night into a festival of rainbows and fireworks. It's transformative. It's magic. Or as Caitlin Moran puts it - you're now 'boarding the sky-sailing pirate ship to whiskey Valhalla.'
DH likes a drink too, but in a different way to me. He'll say of a night, 'I think I'll have a beer or two tonight' and then goes on to do just that - has a beer or two. Then he goes to bed content, the drinking is over.
I don't understand this type of drinking. I honestly can't see the point.
For me, having a drink is a gateway into a parallel universe, where everything oozes with potential, the night brimming with promises. With alcohol I can happily watch a three hour documentary on helicopters and manage to find it interesting. The kitchen becomes party central, the dullest person in the world becomes a fascinating project for me to fix. As one of my oldest friends from school once put it: 'all my friends might have left the pub, leaving me with the saddest, oldest drunk in town, and I'll still stay for another drink'. There is a reason we were friends.
This is also the friend who introduced me to the 'three drink rule' whereby if you stray beyond the second drink and onto the third, all is lost for the night since reason has now beat a hasty retreat, and the party is on. And it's not uncommon for DH to walk into the kitchen at midnight and discover me pulling everything out of the cupboard, looking for an old photo album while yelling into the phone 'I've got to find that photograph - wait, wait, I think I have it!' 'What are you doing?' he'll ask, 'It's only Tuesday!'
Frequently, on a Friday or Saturday night, DH will grumble, 'there's feck all to do tonight, wish we could go out', and I'll be genuinely confused by his comment. There's wine in the house isn't there? What's the problem? The night is our oyster! - who knows where it might lead? The alcoholic carte blanche that the weekend presents offers a cornucopia of opportunities; from singing a karaoke version of 'Cool for Cats' by Squeeze on the kitchen table, to heated discussions about the death penalty for apostasy in Islam. It can mean long, drunken phone calls home to my brother in Ireland to complain about the Australian government's obsession with immigrants, or plans about how we're going to open a bijou guest-house opposite the seafront in Kinvara whenever we manage to actually save some money.
Of course there are times when drinking is not my friend, when reason flies out the window. Like the New Year's eve party I hosted in Al Ain, which saw me kneeling at the ipod player for two hours, obsessively searching for a Michael Buble song which I didn't even have on download (I was asleep by 11pm and missed the whole party), or the time I sent a whole table of drinks flying at one of DH's staff Christmas parties, (he was made redundant a couple of weeks later...).
But overall drinking is a joyful experience and one which is best confined to weekends considering the above, and looking forward to it can make the endless exercise and cottage cheese worth it.
So here's to Friday night and the ride to Valhalla....
Which brings me to today's topic. Drinking. It has to be addressed I think.
Let's get it out the way. I love drinking - I loved it from the very first time I tried it. For me it turns up the colour of life to 10, it fills me with happiness and love for all, it transforms the dullest night into a festival of rainbows and fireworks. It's transformative. It's magic. Or as Caitlin Moran puts it - you're now 'boarding the sky-sailing pirate ship to whiskey Valhalla.'
DH likes a drink too, but in a different way to me. He'll say of a night, 'I think I'll have a beer or two tonight' and then goes on to do just that - has a beer or two. Then he goes to bed content, the drinking is over.
 |
| Dude where's my wine? |
For me, having a drink is a gateway into a parallel universe, where everything oozes with potential, the night brimming with promises. With alcohol I can happily watch a three hour documentary on helicopters and manage to find it interesting. The kitchen becomes party central, the dullest person in the world becomes a fascinating project for me to fix. As one of my oldest friends from school once put it: 'all my friends might have left the pub, leaving me with the saddest, oldest drunk in town, and I'll still stay for another drink'. There is a reason we were friends.
This is also the friend who introduced me to the 'three drink rule' whereby if you stray beyond the second drink and onto the third, all is lost for the night since reason has now beat a hasty retreat, and the party is on. And it's not uncommon for DH to walk into the kitchen at midnight and discover me pulling everything out of the cupboard, looking for an old photo album while yelling into the phone 'I've got to find that photograph - wait, wait, I think I have it!' 'What are you doing?' he'll ask, 'It's only Tuesday!'
Frequently, on a Friday or Saturday night, DH will grumble, 'there's feck all to do tonight, wish we could go out', and I'll be genuinely confused by his comment. There's wine in the house isn't there? What's the problem? The night is our oyster! - who knows where it might lead? The alcoholic carte blanche that the weekend presents offers a cornucopia of opportunities; from singing a karaoke version of 'Cool for Cats' by Squeeze on the kitchen table, to heated discussions about the death penalty for apostasy in Islam. It can mean long, drunken phone calls home to my brother in Ireland to complain about the Australian government's obsession with immigrants, or plans about how we're going to open a bijou guest-house opposite the seafront in Kinvara whenever we manage to actually save some money.Of course there are times when drinking is not my friend, when reason flies out the window. Like the New Year's eve party I hosted in Al Ain, which saw me kneeling at the ipod player for two hours, obsessively searching for a Michael Buble song which I didn't even have on download (I was asleep by 11pm and missed the whole party), or the time I sent a whole table of drinks flying at one of DH's staff Christmas parties, (he was made redundant a couple of weeks later...).
But overall drinking is a joyful experience and one which is best confined to weekends considering the above, and looking forward to it can make the endless exercise and cottage cheese worth it.
So here's to Friday night and the ride to Valhalla....
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