Despite years of trying to find a third way – a path to enlightenment beyond controlled use of semi-controlled substances – I’ve yet to manage it. Perhaps love or the feeling of love comes close, but this in itself is pretty hard to find, very difficult to maintain and I think like good books, best left unanalysed. Either way, five to nine on a Sunday night when too much takeaway food keeps forcing me to leave the keyboard, to spend ten minutes on the ceramic throne screaming as a variety of semi-liquid matter vacates the premises, so to speak, before coming back again with the ring of fire, is no time for this level of philosophy.

What I actually wanted to say was that in the absence of the herbal remedies, I have regained a love of the beverages and have had a most excellent weekend testing my intestinal fortitude, shouting in people’s ears, and laughing a good deal. Alcohol is back in my life and like an old friend has quickly forgiven me for my lack of contact and is setting up a range of amusing encounters to add to my collection of comedy stories. Lots to say about Russian mafia heiresses, twisted lesbians, champagne curry adventures, old Blur cds on the stereo at high volume and pouring salt over wine-stained carpets, but all that is going to have to wait for another time, cos Prov is calling me to start the DVD (the most effective form of Sunday recovery) and I need to pop to the toilet again beforehand.

Chin chin, mofos!

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