Self portrait – December 2011. This is a quick and dirty post. I’m not sure if it is a one off or a new theme – in which I plaster my ugly mug up on the blog, cataloguing a year through my face. Some might argue that the image won’t change – that the same lacklustre expression will be in evidence throughout the year. Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll see a stark contrast between how I look today, and how I’ll look in 12 months. Let’s see. Today’s image is a reminder that I shouldn’t even bother trying to make promises. Saturday morning I woke up, worse for wear, desperately trying to convince Amy that this Christmas will be different. That I won’t drink to
Excess Archive
I can’t drink anymore. Not in the physical sense, where swallowing has had to have been replaced by a tube. No. My inability to drink stems largely from the fact that I seem to spend most of the day after a good night out, rushing in to bathrooms or bemoaning yet another – thumping headache. I first noticed that I’d lost the fine art of drinking shortly after Lauren was born. For some reason or other, I didn’t go through with the tradition of wetting the baby’s head; leaving it for a month or so before I ventured out to satisfy my thirst for a night on the beer. It’d been a couple of months since I had last been out, as I vowed to