Monday February 26 - Fear and Flatulence

My name's Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been one month, 25 days and 18 hours since my last drink.

I went to bed at 9pm last night. I was so tired that my eyes were itching, I was bumping into furniture and I had lost the power to speak in full sentences.

It was a spooky reminder of how I used to feel almost every Sunday night.

Thankfully, I slept like a baby and my night was free of that other Sunday night staple for any Social Alcoholic: The Fear (horrible back-to-school paranoia, see early blog entries).

Still, Fear-free slumber was the least I deserved after not only shunning booze in Bulgaria, but then torturing myself by going to the pub with Gregg and Graham yesterday afternoon.

After forcing down three pints of soda and blackcurrant, and watching them get slowly merry on cooking lager, I decided to try to replicate the proper pub experience by ordering a bottle of Kaliber.

"Is that low-alcohol or alcohol-free," I asked the very Scouse barman.
"Alcohol-free, mate," he replied.
"Right. I'll have one of them, please," I said.

"Do you know if it's any good," I added, as an afterthought.
"It tastes," replied the barman, pausing to pop the cap off the bottle and place it on the bar, "like a fart. Two pound forty, mate."

And do you know what? He was right.

Like I say, a decent night's kip was the least I deserved.