Just an ickle glass, no?

Back to the Metropolis after some blissful days by the sea. Well, near the sea at least!! Rye harbour is about 2 miles from the town centre by bus and although we made it down there on one of our previous visits, the last few times have been spent pretty much browsing the junk and antique shops in town, eating treats from the deli/coffee shop and in bed!

We did, however, get up to view the town hall on Saturday lunchtime, as I had an appointment with a man from Rye town council, so didn’t have much choice! That said, it was a very worthwhile meeting as it’s a lovely and very historic location and is now all booked for 11 December at 2pm. Yay!!!!

Have now got to move on to Stage 2 of the planning, having agreed date, time and place and so the fun starts now. I can imagine that in amongst all the good things, there will be some pretty stressful moments over the months to come, so am bracing myself and had a trip to see my acupuncturist on Thursday to consider stress management strategies. Twas both embarrassing and amusing when I inadvertently showed her a naked photo of K on my camera and the poor woman was quite flustered. She has treated him in the past and I was just sharing some of the christening photos when I accidentally showed her the one I snapped of him shaving in the morning. I don’t blush easily (usually when I am lying, fact fans, so if want to catch me out then that’s the sign!!) but I felt mortified for the both of us. She has clearly seen his naked torso on her table, but the sight of something illicit and rude was enough to make us both look hastily at the ground!!

I am now starting my seventh week of total sobriety, and the time is just flying by. On Friday I headed down during the day and even managed to avoid an hour-long wait between trains at Ashford by chatting up the conductor! He told me as he clipped tickets that my train left just as the London one arrived to which I responded ‘unless the other one is late or THIS ONE is early’ with a beaming smile. Cue announcement as we approached Ashford that we were 6 minutes early and the Rye train, in case anyone needed it was on platform one’. The Gods were clearly shining down! K came down after work so I joined the other Stepford wives at Rye station (them in twinset and pearls and me in my boho get up!!) as my beau arrived on the 19.54 with requisite pin-stripe suit and copy of the FT on top of his travel bag! We therefore feasted on deli treats and had an early night. Saturday eve we opted for the same relaxed eve of nibbles and music (from the treasure trove that is the Old Grammar School Record Shop in Rye, where the dust is an inch thick but K can still find bargains) and blissed out. Alcohol therefore never even entered my mind.

It was Sunday eve, by which point we were back in Charlton, K was having a bath and I was ploughing through the Observer supplements, when I thought about wine for the first time in ages. I was on the sofa, Paganini on the stereo and just at that moment thought how nice it would be to have a glass of wine. Then I evaluated the realistic prospect and knew full bloody well that a glass would not suffice. I’d happily sip that one but once finished, would traipse through to the kitchen and pour myself a generous second glass whilst I cooked dinner. This would be finished in time for the third that I’d have ‘with my meal’ and the fourth? Well that’s cos it would be rude not to as there would be a small amount left in the bottle otherwise, which just wouldn’t do! I’d therefore be spending today catching up on work after a day off with what I call a ‘thick’ head. Lovely weekend, very relaxing, but all the good work would have been undone by the hangover I would have had today.

I am perfectly capable of not drinking, but once I have the first one the resolve just evaporates. All good intentions are broken down by the alcohol working its magic. Friends keep saying ‘one wee glass won’t hurt’ ‘aren’t you even having a glass of champers’ ‘maybe just a small bit in the glass, eh?’ and I can’t tell you how nice it would be to say ‘sure thing, not a problem, I’ll have a wee bit’. But it won’t happen because that is the fantasy scenario and not the reality. In real life I’d have one, be persuaded (ha ha – with miniscule amounts of pressure) to have another then declare myself off the wagon so that I could overindulge. Stopping at one isn’t in my psyche yet and I hasten to add, I am not even sure that it ever will be. I am 6 weeks in and still dry. I have made some major changes to my life, lost weight, started planning a wedding and dealt with some demons. However, the demon that I am still far from being in control of is alcohol. It doesn’t taunt me often and Sunday was the first time in a while, but it’s just a reminder that nothing has changed yet on that front. I’d compare it to meeting up with an ex. You know, the one who dumped you and broke your heart, but left the door half open in a ‘maybe at a different time in my life it would have worked’ type way. You have it in the back of your mind that they could call and ask to meet you for a friendly drink and you’d go along and have a lovely time but the urge to shag them would be long gone and you’d be highly civilised and restrained? Bollocks. We know it isn’t like that. You’d turn up, see him through those pesky pink-tinted glasses, ply him with booze, start a conversation along the lines of ‘all our yesterdays’ and bingo, you’d bed him. Trouble is, you’d wake up next morning feeling like shit and find him gone with a ‘Dear John-style note’ on the pillow. That’s what wine is to me. My very attractive, always alluring but never satisfying ex; there for the good times but can’t be seen for dust come the bad.