I’ve been holding off on posting anything alcohol-related, waiting for something worth saying about it, and here it is: 184 days.

The story of stopping began earlier this year (check out the Booze tag). Lots of those first posts were foundation stones; some laid carefully, placed with precision, some just tipped out and left where they landed. There’s a bit of biography, a fair bit of working through ideas about process and motivation. I spent a month or so writing my way out of something and into something. Finding myself inhabiting a different kind of mindset, kind of one I always had in mind but maybe didn’t feel set on, was where a need to write about it all so much fell away.

Perhaps my motivations altered.

“…distressing memories succumb especially easily to motivated forgetting”

– Freud

There have been a lot of associations with drinking bubbling up. I have been intending to document them (a richly-stocked draft folder attests)… but it all felt a bit too personal. As the above quotation suggests, it’s quite easy to ignore “that stuff”, seal closed a door and move on. That stuff beyond the symptoms (a constant sense of inability; feeling bloated in a vast, round number of ways; impoverishment (same); self-negation…)

While I have got on pretty well with being a sober person – lots of exercise, and diary, and making music, and reading a lot, and leaving my old job, and all that stuff – what all that clear-eyed thinkery reveals also is that, even with the dampers off, one’s head still works in certain ways, and that one of the reasons for applying the dampers is because those ways of working can be pretty fucking annoying.

Stopping seemed easy because I was ready to do so. Talking about the things that had me doing it in the first place… the walled-in rooms, the crumbled ruins discovered beneath the lake, are where the interesting stories are, of course.

Today, though! Strike up the anniversary waltz. It’s officially just over six months since I stopped drinking alcoholic drinks. Halfway to my target of a year off drinking, feeling good about it, break out the cake.

“Anniversaries”, though. As discussed in one of those early pieces, how to signify short-term dates of significance is unclear. Checking back through the booze tag from earlier in the year, I think a week was pebbles. Rocks tend to appear later in the anniversary stakes. Six months being a semiannual return, it’s better than pebbles. Something concrete, perhaps?

Conflicting reports on the possible rebooting, or booted-out redoing, or something, of one of my childhood favourites, Blake’s 7.

The story on the BBC is that its original Terry Nation series is to be revived by SyFy channel, according to a press release that seems more a call-for-funding announcement from FremantleMedia. Meanwhile, on a website that looks like it’s maintained with the same sporadic effort as The Mortal Bath, SyFy’s blog is a bit reticent on the matter, with the most recent entry about Blake’s 7 being an also entirely speculative piece from, I think, 2010, wisting at Sky and suggesting that maybe the Beeb might like to pony up for the series.

Moving on from that thicket of clickable links… Given the quality of the Nu-Battlestar Galactica and J.J. Abram’s Star Trekking, the potential for a redoing of Blake’s 7 is quite exciting. Of course, among my concerns, quibbles, cavils, as a fan: it might get done and be completely rubbish… or indeed it might never get done.

In the case of the latter, it could be argued, what would we have lost? It was a good (retro-futuristic period) piece, best leave it untainted. Yet you wouldn’t not touch great ideas like the Fox and the Crow… an effective reinterpretation would be able to say something pertinent about all sorts of things.

With regard to a BBC remake, if, say, ‘They’ did decide to reinvest in their own back catalogue – in a ‘doing it for Terry’ Blakeish heroic rescuing of creative control from the Federation Mutoids, I mean, puppets of the former Nazi propagandist empire Bertelsmann, I mean Fremantle – would it be Sherlock levels of good, or would it be as scrotum-tweakingly overdone as the Doctor Who franchise has become?

Oh, come on, though – I love Matt Smith orders of magnitude more than David Tennant, but I can’t watch it any more. Over-scored, climactic moments every ten minutes. It’s sad. Is it in case an itchy finger hits the remote, or buffering, or whatever concerns are preoccupying the producers and getting in the way of LETTING A GOOD STORY TELL ITSELF? Nostalgia be damned: if the old ways of taking four episodes to recount a single narrative thread are an indulgence, a throwback to the days when the Byzantine, nay, Gilliam-Orwellian hierarchies and production processes of the now lamented BBC TV Centre ruled the airwaves, then indulge us, throw us back. My concentration span will tolerate it, and balls to anyone whose attention span cannot.

Sorry, getting lost in space(balls) there. Regarding Blake’s 7… well, we shall see, or perhaps we won’t. Perhaps we shall be rewarded as I was every time I heard this:

Eh? EH? Awesome. Here’s hoping!