Aside from the odd terrible binge where I’ve sometimes ended up in an ill advised snog, I am not a great drinker. A stint on the uber healthy, very middle class north shore of Sydney where carrot juice was the norm  and a flat white the worst it got, put the tin hat on any mild normal uk style drinking I might have adopted.

When my erstwhile lover suggested alcohol would help get me through, a sentiment echoed by my colleagues I was pretty horrified. Anyone knows that alcohol has depressive effects after all.

On my wee stint away at the weekend I drank a fair amount of rose wine and began to look forward to it. Last night I drank far too much with my neighbour and tonight as part of my new intellectual curiosity drive I attended a seminar about mental health in the uk. I believe my enjoyment was greatly enhanced by holding a glass or two of white wine through the debate. 

I’m still feeling remarkably cheerful. It’s now the 6th day of no contact and I find I’m looking pretty hot with my new haircut and the removal of the angst around my eyes.  Whether it’s time, my new pragmatic understanding of my choices or simply alcohol, I do not know but the combination is clearly getting me through.


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