Another drunken weekend at Costa Fortune

Yet another weekend where drink was more important than anything else. Pissed as a newt for around about forty-eight hours, unsure of what all went down my throat and less sure of what all came back up. Only sure of one thing and that is - today is day one, again.

Don't want no more!!!

When I first gave up drinking it was easy, I made the decision to stop and walked the walk for over a year. Since then though, it's been different, unfortunately. A month off here, two or three months there, even six months once but then I trip up again.

Promises all too often made to myself, like "I'll need to go to the pub to see who's there!!!", only to wake up the next day with no memory of who was there. Or, "I'll get a couple of cans in for tonight." and find out the next day that I've poured twenty quid down my throat. The rubbish and lies that I can wind myself up with are really amazing and I fall for it all.

So, the question has to be, "When will the next day one turn up?" Tomorrow perhaps, possibly next week or even next month?

Why is it so difficult to do again what I did in the first place. Why, when it wasn't a problem then? Why did I fall of my bike after so long? What reason was there for me to trip up then and continue to trip up again and again ever since?

I spent over a year walking the walk, thirteen months in fact, about three years ago.

Will I ever be talking the talk?

Perhaps not today

You know the story, once an alki, always an alki. It does get easier as time goes by but it's still there, in the back of your mind, waiting to get at you, to break you.

And it knows that it will succeed, perhaps not today, not tomorrow but it sits, and it waits and it's ready for the moment to come along. It doesn't matter how quick it comes along or how fast you are to deal with it, you're fucked. If you slip up then you lose. There are very few things in this life that are guaranteed. That's one of them, the other's divorce and either way you're fucked again.

It nearly got me this weekend. Don't know why I fancied a drink but I did. Not an unnatural thing, is it but the fancy was with me all the time, it's Monday and it's still there, hovering, trying to convince me that one or two won't hurt me.

Aye, my arse - I think that I've heard that a few times too often now to believe it. One or two wouldn't hurt me, that's true enough but when did I last have one or two, must have been a while ago now, how many decades?

I fell off the horse last month. The old "Just one or two" promise, you know, a tenner a pint, aye, that'll be right, shining bright. It's at me again today and I've not even had my lunch yet. A bit early to start, whatcha think?

Nah, I think that I'll carry on fighting.

After all, I have to, I can't let it win, can I???