Convalescence

This posting will not reflect my true state of mind (which is one of appalling contrition and shame). No, I will only write about the positive aspects of my recent life, and I will avoid recounting to you the sorrowful outcomes of some of my more extreme and ignominious deeds. It all began when I motored down to Cornwall for a few days of relaxation - I had a lovely trip down, with none of the usual tiredness I normally experience on long journeys. Once I had crossed over the Tamar Bridge into the land of the Kernewek, the sun was just too inviting, so I put the top down on the car and drove the rest of the way with the "warm wind in my hair".

Cornwall was such a pleasure - no sooner had I arrived than I was ensconced in the rooftop garden of my friends' house with a glass of beer in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. The remainder of my stay was whiled away by meandering around the harbour shops, walking along deserted beaches, trekking through the Cornish countryside to take tea and scones in the woods, and lingering over relaxing dinners, eating good food in the company of good and restful friends. A most uplifting sojourn indeed.

When my visit was over, I drove back across the Tamar Bridge into Devon to attend the wedding at Salcombe of some old sailing friends of mine. This was by far the most stylish and lavish wedding that I have ever been too - look out for the photos in 'Hello' magazine, I'm sure. We all had such a lot of fun catching up with old faces - scattering ourselves across the elegant lawns of the hotel, discreetly surrounded by an army of formally-dressed servants handing out canapés, Pimms and champagne galore. Then to the wedding breakfast, served amidst the diaphanous drapes of the graceful dining room - one hundred and sixty guests sat down to a delicious five-course banquet and as much wine and champagne as we could drink. Thereby hangs my downfall of course - and once the dining and speeches were over, our genial and generous host opened up a free bar which, for a dilettante libertine such as myself, is a sure recipe for disaster. As I said, I will not dwell on the reprehensible results of such indulgence, but I think I can safely predict that I will not be invited to such an event again.

I drove home the following day - a long and tedious journey, only made bearable by the knowledge that my dear friend Richie Garton was waiting for me; waiting to start another round of debauched and decadent drinking. This was not a sensible thing for me to do of course, because I then proceeded to continue with a total lack of self-control (where behaviour in polite society is concerned, I mean); a self-indulgence which unfortunately lasted for the next two days. Oh, when will I ever learn?

Duties and chores await me - impatiently drumming their fingers on the table-top; sighing in resignation that yet again, they remain unattended. Despite the very best of intentions, I have failed once more. The only thing to do is to remain inside my apartment, alone. I can hardly cause myself any more embarrassment if I do that, and it may also give me the opportunity and motivation to attack the list of 'things to do' (which is now as long as the Turin Shroud). What's more, it might even give my poor, wrecked and ruined body a chance to recuperate from the sordid excesses of recent times.

So, it's 'goodbye' to polite society for a while, and 'hello' to sobriety, industry and diligence. My next posting will hopefully be a record of such productivity, and you will be amazed at the transformation in my circumstances.

Watch this space.