The Road To Hell...

I became so irresponsibly hammered on New Year’s Eve that it took me a long time to recover on Tuesday. Blimey, I thought I was meant to be behaving with a new-found decorum too; I was only a bit merry by midnight – although perhaps I should have suspected otherwise because by the time the bells chimed I was dancing like a loony with a whole bunch of friends (I don’t normally dance, you see). And so, at about one o’clock, I began to prepare to head homewards – I’d had a lovely evening, was feeling pleasantly tipsy, and thought that an ‘early’ night would round it all off. Then someone invited me to a party and of course, the little demon in my head urged me to accept and so I went along, whereupon I became guilty of an increasingly serious assault on a bottle of Jack Daniels (as well as some strange concoction that Little Jim called "Man-whisky") and alas, I didn’t get home until dawn.

Oh dear, and I was due to attend lunch at my parents’ house in a matter of a few hours too. After snatching a quick cat-nap, I plunged myself under a cold shower, quickly dressed and took a taxi over to Beeston. Dear Mummy & Daddy, I am so sorry for not doing your specially prepared lunch proper justice; it was rather ungrateful of me considering the amount of trouble you had taken on my behalf. I really, really promise to go on the wagon from now on. And it’s true – I went to the Broadway on my way home this evening to catch up with a few friends and I only had a cup of tea. Yes, a refreshing cup of tea. Now I’m at home cooking a lasagne (for which I was disappointed to discover I have no lasagne in the cupboard), and about to do some work. This is the start of 2008 – a year of production and diligence. I might even get around to doing a bit of ironing later; I have a Leaning Tower of Pisa-type stack to do, so I really need to get on with it.

I’m off to Birmingham in the morning (snow permitting). British weather reports are so strange. “Heavy snow” was what the BBC was forecasting for the Midlands, today on the lunchtime news. Quite outrageous scaremongering I call it. By this evening, the reports have changed to “light dusting” which of course, may or may not be true. I’m not overly optimistic about Cross Country Trains coping with any level of dusting so I’m thinking of taking a small hip flask with me tomorrow, just in case (oops, there goes my tee-total commitment).

I’ll let you know how I get on. If you don’t hear from me within a week, send a St Bernard to New Street Station immediately.