Despite it being St David’s Day, the start of March, daffodil yellow everywhere, golden trumpets heralding the imminence of Spring, etc etc etc, outside it was a relentlessly grey Friday, at the tail end of a holiday. Such gloom contrasting with the promise of renewal is always bound to provoke some sentiments of resentment. Today was fully Bunyanesque in its sequence of testing moods.

Didn’t want to do anything, nothing I did was enough, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t do anything but churn.

It was the first time since I kicked this off that I have felt boring and self-negating for not wanting to have a drink. Thinking about giving over the Project Straight nonsense and just having a beer. Properly imagining what sort, how many would be allowed, etc.

Attempting to distract myself and feel useful, I went out for fish n chips, and to the shop to get wine for the missus. Setting up the opportunity, the feelings died down a bit, oddly enough, and I had no inclination to act on the earlier thoughts – well, none that I couldn’t ignore til I got out of the shop. Although I then managed to break a wine glass when I got home, fumbling it out of the cupboard in a tediously unmetaphorical, actually having to clear up a fucked wine glass, manner.

*rolls eyes*

What with all this crushing internal churn, confusion, self-doubt and loathing, what better occasion for the football team to pull a glorious 4-0 win out of the bag, scoring the first after 16 seconds, by gad? None, I say, none more better.

Morale back up to double figures and climbing by full time, at least.

With some sort of family meal being a feature of Sundays, the presence of a bottle of some description to accompany the food on the table has always seemed to add a certain civilised something.

Depending on the season, or the point in the drinking calendar, it might be something as basic as a bottle of beer, or cider. Really, though, that kind of ‘sensible’ drinking does not happen.

If it’s been a “long weekend” (see Thursdays), then a couple of beers might be considered essential maintenance, coasting towards Monday off because work, but needing the smoothing off of the edges.

If an especially special occasion – this being any one of a rolling sequence of arbitrary  justifications – it’d be a couple of beers for starters, plus wine. Stopping off at the garage on the way home to get supplies, even after deciding not to. Perhaps because of that. The starters might for variety be any leftover gins, or the pre-mixed cans of G&T as mentioned in previous posts. Maybe cava if it’s someone’s birthday.

Wine: generally red, generally two bottles, because one would get opened during food prep and then finished over food. A second bottle, depending on what time this was all happening, would likely as not be supplemented later, with a wander back up to the garage for more wine. The supermarkets may close at 4pm on a Sunday, but the Tesco garage is open until midnight, and sells drink.

As I type out this Sunday litany, it’s an odd mix of feelings. I mean, I am not horrified, amused, proud, ashamed… Maybe a cocktail of all those things, but putting it down on the page, it just kind of… is.

Well, was. I sat down to write this after a busy day doing things – work, family, leisure – and it honestly hadn’t occurred to me. The urge is still in abeyance, meaning the urge to have anything at all, never mind set off determinedly, after a bottle and a half of wine and several beers, to get more.

Yet abeyance means a pause, a temporary cessation, and I am aware of this, as I enjoy a surge of energy and enthusiasm. I am aware that the same strength and determination was behind that unavoidable swerve into the garage forecourt, an impulse equally thrilling, equally compelling.

It comes and goes. It’s in there, possible.

“… the Gagrakackan ‘tzjin-anthony-ks’, which kill cows at a hundred paces…”

Gin (and its lethal potential) is a recurring motif in the writing of Douglas Adams.

This was the level of gin hangover I had last Saturday. Gagrakackan. It waited until about 10.30 then settled in, like a deceased bovine atop my skull.

It wasn’t an “enough’s enough” moment, particularly. I’ve had a lot of them and I know they don’t really mean anything. I kind of knew it was coming, though, and that it was a necessary precursor to a cheerio. Me and tzjin-anthony-ks. And all the other spellings and all the other variants.

This series of top-ups in the Mortal Bath is going to be about all that.

Wednesday, deriving from Wines-day, the middle of the week and the day associated most closely with needing a stiffener to see you through to the weekend.

Me and my love were sat up waiting for a first glimpse of the iPad (this is not true, the news was on last night and we were watching), and she beat me to the flippant response by noting:

“iPad – sounds like a self-perpetuating digital sanitary node”

which is a little nod to Brian Blessed’s legendary quote about the Palm Pilot, of course. I was disappointed to discover that I was also beaten to the tape with my breakfast time gag “Steve Jobs Shrinks To Size of Mouse: Miniaturisation App Backfires At Launch of iPhone 3GS”, to go with this photo:

by at least half the world. The early bird, (insert Apple-don’t-do-viruses worm joke) and all that…

Anyway, the new Apple half-laptop might well change the world forever. This is something I think should be encouraged, because planetarily we need a break from the old routine, as Oui 3 once suggested.

Whether digitising everything to achieve it is a good idea is another point for discussion, a discussion in which people who still like to go to the cinema, read a book without switching something on other than a lamp, etc, etc, probably will have no ultimate say, given that they do not tweet or blog, even disliking neologistic terms such as tweet or blog, have just got round to thinking animated cats are a pretty neat idea, perhaps even consider the interweb to be, like Spinal Tap, a passing thing.

Don’t get me wrong! I’m not a Luddite. The last week or two has seen me become expert on mobile phone offerings in the UK market, in the hope of not getting stuck with a battery-eating lump of unused applications and tiny buttons again (although I expect this too is an expiring sigh of consumer idealism). I embrace stuff that makes it easier to do worky things, it’s just the whole ‘saving me time and effort in my leisure cycle as well’ thing. Why would I need to have 64GB of films, books and music with me anyway? May I never be so distracted.

If asked to choose between an evening watching films on a glorified Etch-a-Sketch and partaking of actual social intercourse in the laudable manner of Shelby Lynne… I think it’s got to be a wine, vinyl and doobie party all the way.