Target: a month without alcohol
On Thursday evening I fell off the wagon. More like pole vaulted off it. A colleague had a do. I'd like to be able to say that everyone was drinking, but I can't. There were a number of drivers in the party; I wasn't one of them. I ordered a small (how restrained of me) glass of Shiraz. It looked small enough in the pint pot cunningly disguised as a wine glass, though I'm hazarding a guess that it was at least 175ml, maybe even 250ml. Nevertheless, it appeared so small in situ that I'd guzzled it before the starter arrived. Then I ordered another. I fear I'd have had a third except that being a school night the evening drew to an early close. Having capitulated, last night I went hell for leather and drank half a bottle of Merlot; I feel a bit ropey today. And very ashamed. I'm so much more productive and creative when I'm not drinking, you see, and while I'm busy on draft three of novel #2 - now renamed Parade - I am dying to begin on novel #3 too. Some say write about what you know... Should I bring my experience of my relationship with alcohol into the next book? Personally, I prefer to write about what I don't know. So perhaps my protagonist will be a teetotaller, whose idea of a good time is a mug of darjeeling and a copy of Jane's Book of Fighting Ships...