My name's Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been three months, 26 days and 18 hours since my last drink.
The Friday night thirst is back with a vengeance.
Nearly four booze-free months had effectively broken my previously held belief that the end of the working week should be marked with a hefty quantity of strong lager.
Tonight, however, I really feel like I deserve it, following a relentless tide of news on my patch. If I do manage to get through this year without a drink, it will be no thanks to the people of north-west England and north Wales, who keep doing things which I have to write stories about.
If only everyone would stop:
A. Murdering each other.
B. Dying early and/or in bizarre circumstances.
C. Owning and/or beng savaged by illegal dogs.
D. Showing pictures of decapitated motorcyclist's heads.*
...then my life would much less stressful.
To be fair, I much prefer busy weeks, so I'm not really complaining. However, there is something about a really hard week at work and a sunny Friday evening that makes a few pints taste so damn good. I really do miss them.
* OK, so only one person has done this, namely the chief constable of North Wales Police, and it was only the one head. But it did create a lot of work
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