Monday January 1 - The End Of A Heavy Week

My name is Will and I am a social alcoholic. It's been 15 hours and 31 minutes since my last drink.

As planned, I downed my last alcoholic beverage (a pint of Guinness – the tipple I will miss the most) shortly before Big Ben struck midnight. At least, I assume that Big Ben struck midnight. I have yet to visit the pub or restaurant that has mastered the notoriously tricky craft of switching the TV or radio on at the correct time, and at the requisite volume, thus enabling people to hear the event that the whole chuffing night is supposedly about.
Last night's venue was no exception. At around five to midnight we obediently stood up and linked our crossed hands in preparation for Auld Lang Syne - a song deemed fit to mark the start of each new year of hope and promise, despite the fact that nobody really knows the tune, lyrics or what the title actually means. Still, it's tradition, innit?
After several minutes of semi-embarrassed hand-holding, one of our party decided enough was enough, and simply started to count down loudly from ten. That seemed to do the trick, and set off all the other tables. Happy New-ish year, everyone!
Knowing in advance that I would give up alcohol on the stroke of midnight, I had rather assumed the rest of my night would be tarnished by the lack of booze, and I would have to make my excuses and leave by 1am. In fact, I had a brilliant time and did not hit the hay until well past 3am.
I'd like to pretend this was because I immediately realised that alcohol is not essential to having a good time, and that it is the person inside that counts. Alas, on this occasion, it was really just the alcohol inside that counted. I had downed so much in my final pre-midnight spree that I was sufficiently lubricated for several more hours of drunken rambling.
Awoke this morning with a hangover, which made me feel quite indignant. I had, after all, spent three hours drinking water after mignight, which I believed entitled me to awake feeling fitter and fresher than Dr Gillian McKeith during Lent. Instead, I felt rougher than Michael Barrymore after one of his wilder pool parties.

However, I then realised my last week's drinking diary looked a little like this.

Sunday December 31 – four pints beer, one bottle wine, one tequila. Excuse: New Year's Eve, last booze for a year.
Saturday December 30 – six pints beer, four glasses red wine, one glass champagne, two vodkas, two sambucas. Excuse: Jim and Kate's wedding.
Friday December 29 – four pints strong lager. Excuse: Wanted to catch up with Graham (whom I last saw on Wednesday.)
Thursday December 28 – alcohol-free day. Reason: on-call.
Wednesday December 27 – five pints strong lager. Excuse: Two festive pints with Jon, then Graham turned up so had two festive pints with him. Then another for luck.
Tuesday December 26 – One pint beer, eight cans of strong lager. Excuse: football match followed by Boxing Day party at Matt and Zoe's.
Monday December 25 – Beer, wine, champagne, port. Quantities unknown. Excuse: Baby Jesus.
Sunday December 24 – Four cans beer, port, wine. Excuse: First day off after six days on duty, plus excitement over what colour socks I'd be getting for Christmas.

That's quite heavy, even for a self-confessed SA like me. Spent the rest of the day shivering and feeling slightly paranoid. Oh well, at least a night's sleep will sort me out.