Bear with a sore head

I’m going off the grog. Well, except for fortifieds after dinner, but they don’t really count, they’re just dessert. Oh, and weekends. Can’t possibly go off the grog on weekends. Too many occasions that require social lubricant. So, I’m going off the grog from Monday to Friday. Well, except when I go out on Wednesdays. (Husband is home on Wednesdays, so they’re my traditional girls’ night out.) It’d feel weird to go to a bar with friends and not have a drink. Oh, and Fridays. Fridays might be a problem too. I mean, it’s the end of the week. It’s a popular grog night. Might be tricky not drinking on Fridays. OK, I’m giving up the grog on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Three days a week. Well, except if there’s an open bottle in the fridge. Because if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s waste. It would help if all the wine clubs I’ve joined didn’t keep sending “free” alcohol to my house. (Why is it when stuff automatically arrives on your doorstep it feels like a gift?) Our wine rack is bursting with deliveries from Cassegrain, Petersons, Tamburlaine, Sam Miranda … There are so many bottles, they don’t actually fit in the wine rack, so it seems sensible to whittle them down (via my mouth). Well, it seemed sensible until the night of Sprog 1’s party. I guzzled maybe four or five champagnes (six tops) throughout the afternoon and early evening and I felt crook. I collapsed in bed at 9pm, but couldn’t sleep. At 10.30pm I decided I was sober enough to down a Unisom “sleep aid” and escape to oblivion. The alcohol and Unisom combination didn’t kill me – thankfully – but it didn’t help me sleep either. I lay awake for another two hours feeling wretched and miserable. During those awful hours, I decided drinking a few glasses too many just isn’t worth it. It feels buzzy and fun at the time, but the aftermath is a shocker. So I went to a friend’s house yesterday afternoon and refused all offers of alcohol. Everyone else downed beers, but I stuck to the chips and dip. Then I got home and ruined it all by slurping two glasses of sav blanc to get me through the dying hours of my hangover. But my food diet starts today (erm, except for that Thai lunch I’m having with my friend Sam …) so the wine diet can start too. How long do you give me? 

PS Husband wanted me to mention that he didn’t drink for the whole of February and October this year. He likes to take the occasional month off. He’s quite rigid about it, too. Even if it means not drinking at special degustation dinners I’ve booked as birthday gifts. A saint among men.

TONIGHT’S MENU: Husband is Melbourne for work. I was going to make a chicken tagine. But I can’t see the point in making a chicken tagine for myself and unappreciative Sprogs. There’s the remains of a BBQ chook in the fridge that I’ll turn into a salad for me (virtuous!), then I’ll boil up some ravioli for the Sprogs.