OF COURSE I’ll be back to drinking alcohol before the week is out.
I think the underlying problem was my insatiable need to get absolutely plastered to the point where I couldn’t walk or talk on a weekly basis. What’s probably required are some new ground rules: no drinking before I go out to meet others at the pub, and try to drink at the same pace as everyone else (I really do become rather thirsty sometimes). This, at the very minimum, should ensure that if I can’t remember what happened the next day, neither can anyone else.
I think that’s a more comfortable happy medium. I’ve already had to umm and ahh about catching up with two groups of friends today because of my dry spell, and felt like a bit of a piker.
The clincher to this decision was a mate of mine moving to live right near the infamous Marrickville RSL – the finest display of 80s optimistic futurism conveyed through every colour of neon light EVER – and I’ve a hankerin’ to visit there. Personally, I couldn’t come up with anything better than a club originally intended for retired soldiers to recreate in, somehow being morphed into inner west Sydney’s finest combination of booze, boobies and AC/DC cover bands.
That, and someone on the internet needs to shoulder the responsibility of watching Deal or No Deal while they’re smashed and getting a little too into it, while slurringly blogging about how fantastically stupid the show is. Don’t kid yourselves, I’ll be posting a pissed rambling commentary of a Deal episode sometime soon when the new series begins for the year.