I think I've been drinking too much on a regular basis for about thirty years. There are days when I can feel my liver complaining.
Recently, in the last five years or so, the amount I'm drinking has risen. I'd actually be ashamed to admit how much I put away on an average day, and how most of these evenings by the time I go to bed I don't feel drunk, but just a bit numb...
As a result I don't sleep well, often waking up early in the morning and then worrying myself awake to the alarm at six. I have something of a paunch, and I rather know that that's something to do with wine. And an awful lot of the time I just rather hate myself for my lack of control and my immoderate nature.
In the past I've announced here that I'm going to stop, and then failed to do so, because I'm weak-willed. It's all a bit tragic.
Just thought I'd share.
Off to have a vat of tea...
1 comment:
Corned beef legs.... refers to one of the stories told by Billy Connolly about his childhood in the grimier streets of Glasgow. This was before he changed his style for English consumption, and later swearing lots and fulminating deeply on the 'madness' of life.
Anyway.... in his, and my, childhood kids played in the streets. And, like now, there was the occasional fashion for naming them after, for example, Hollywood film stars. Connolly's story describes a mother... surname Docherty, McGrogan or..., coming to the front door of her house,shouts up the street.... "Tyrone, Tyrone... yer tea's ready.." And she'd stand there, in the doorway, hair in curlers, fag hanging out of her mouth, stockings down around her ankles, corned beef legs.......
CB Legs... Red and white mottling, standing too close to the fireplace.
Tyrone... Tyrone Power
I didn't know what 'tie one on' meant so, I took the easy route, and Googled it.
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