That's the punchline to some sort of seaside postcard featuring a weedy looking man and a pneumatic blonde on their honeymoon. But in my case, it's all about seven days of sobriety because, yes, we're in Lent and during Lent I give up the booze. No real reason, certainly nothing to do with the approach of Easter. I suspect it's more to do with testing my powers of self-control, which might be foolishly stiff upper lip of me - I don't know. It does, however, make a surprisingly pleasant change to remove alcohol as a factor in some of the things I do.
Going out, for instance, is a lot easier in some respects (no relying on buses, taxis, lifts or Shanks's Pony to get back from somewhere). That being said the company of people who are hell bent on getting tanked up when I am stone cold sober is not high on my list of favourite things to see and do, but then I'm sure I'm just as scintillating when I've had a few.
I also have very vivid dreams - Jacques Cousteau urinating down a well and Denise van Outen hanging up a skimpy dress in a cemetery are just two such dreams. The other thing I notice is that I get quite fidgety. Not because I'm desperate for a drink, but because I just want to get out and do stuff.
So anyway, I've given up drink (but only for Lent) and, sadly, work has given up three of my colleagues. In other words they've gone for a combination of reasons which all have the recession at their root. And if anything is an excuse for a good old piss up, it's people leaving work, but no, not for me. I'm on lime and soda, BUT ONLY FOR LENT.
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