Lockdown for me, like so many, was a time for reflection and spiritual awakenings…usually whilst knee-deep in wine bottles at 2am, chatting animatedly to my partner about What Really Matters In Life whilst wearing activewear that I\u2019d slipped on that morning fully intending to do the daily Joe Wicks PE sesh. (Intending being the operative word.)<\/p>\n

The keys to the New Normal were finally handed to (most of) us at the end of June: Bumbling Boris peering through shaggy blonde locks, imploring us through the tellybox<\/span> to come out of hiding and get back to work, and we nodded, albeit apprehensively; square-eyed after months of goggling at Tiger King on Netflix. We reluctantly wriggled into our work uniforms, now a little snug-fitting in places, and tentatively emerged from our locked-up living spaces looking a tad dishevelled, like when they flip the lights on at the club at 6am and you stumble out into the weak London daylight, blinking like a newborn after the darkness, trying to drink in your first glimpses of this Strange New World.<\/p>\n

Drink.<\/p>\n

Did someone say drink?<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve always been the kind of person who applies myself wholeheartedly to the task at hand, launching myself headlong into things. Fellow Aries, you\u2019ll know where I\u2019m coming from – us<\/span><\/span> rams go at it heads down, horns first. We grab life, and all those we encounter, by the cajones <\/i>(in the nicest possible way, of course). So my approach to drinking in my teens was no different: I locked horns with the target and challenged it to a duel. The booze won, of course. It threw me on my arse. Undeterred, I got up, brushed myself off, and went at it again. Once more, it floored me. But I didn\u2019t mind. I\u2019m nothing if not<\/span><\/span> determined. Another person, another personality, might have walked away. Not me. I got back in the proverbial saddle and continued to drink, battling hangover after brutal hangover, drunken mishap after embarrassing boozy facepalm, until…<\/p>\n

…I got quite good at it. I became a professional piss-artist.<\/p>\n

I had fun – lots and lots of fun. I have Sauvignon-soaked stories that\u2019d make you laugh until you cried. I have stories that\u2019d make you just<\/i> cry – from shame; sadness; shock. I have many, many<\/i>, anecdotes of wild times. I worked a few seasons in Ibiza: say no more. I could write a book of silly sozzled shenanigans (if only I could actually remember most of them). I\u2019ve lived. I\u2019ve travelled the world. I\u2019ve loved<\/span><\/span>. Laughed. Married. Divorced. I\u2019ve suffered and survived heartache greater than I ever thought I would, or could, endure.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s just it: I\u2019ve survived. I\u2019m alive. And I\u2019d quite like to stay that way, actually. People have passed through my life; come and gone. Many have stayed by my side, loyal, clinging like barnacles on a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean, keeping the shared secrets of our lives like the buried treasure that lies beneath. The one true constant that\u2019s always been there with them, by my side through thick and thin?<\/p>\n

Alcohol.<\/p>\n

My faithful friend. Or is she? I\u2019m not sure now. Alcohol is definitely a SHE though, of that I\u2019m sure: erratic, prone to mood swings; unpredictable. One minute swirling on the dancefloor, twirling and giggling, the next offering someone out for spilling her drink. Having her as a bestie is both a blessing and a curse. She\u2019s that friend who\u2019ll bolster you, telling you what you want to hear (\u201dthat dress really suits you – buy it!\u201d) whilst simultaneously sniggering as you walk out of the loos with your too-small skirt tucked in your knickers. She is one two-faced bitch.<\/p>\n

Well, friend. The gloves are off.<\/p>\n

This time, Alcohol, I\u2019m in charge. And I\u2019m calling time on 30 years of \u2018friendship\u2019. 2020 is the year of change. And, yes, I\u2019m looking at you, sweetheart.<\/p>\n

The time has come. I\u2019m calling you out. You and me<\/span><\/span> are done mate<\/span><\/span>.<\/p>\n

But can I really ditch her? Only time will tell. Time, and a few thousand judgy social media followers. I\u2019m telling you because I need your help to blow out the weekly blow-outs. I\u2019m on Day 7.<\/p>\n

Are you with me?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n