Odds and Sods

I'll be honest with you, I've hit a rough patch!  It's been bubbling for a bit now, and it coincides with having now been nearly two weeks off the smokes (no surprise there).

I've been demonstrating alcoholic behaviour with chocolate!  Sounds innocuous, but in my noggin it's not.  The fierceness with which I crave more chocolate, once having eaten a bit, is frightening.  I go at it with total conviction, and know that, if it was there, I'd keep snaffling the stuff until I puked (brown sick - nice)! This is such a concern for me that I have now banned Cadbury's from the house!  Poor L & M will have to get their chocolate fix when I'm not around...

However, it's not just this.  My beloved Blues went and won the FA Cup on Saturday and, my oh my, could I have gone on one serious session!  That old desire to drink and drink and drink and drink came flooding into my brain.  Thankfully, I didn't; but it was there alright!  I've been warned that there will be hard & tough times (remember, life does have a tendency to throw shite our way from time-to-time) that will put me in danger of 'picking-up'.  What I didn't expect is that there'll be good times too that put me in just as much danger!  And City's win was one of them (granted, one big win every 35 years isn't too much to worry about!) - I wanted to seriously celebrate, and it took a fair-old bit of will to dispel such thoughts...

So, as a result, it's been a strange weekend (for example, I could've easily got in bed at about 7pm last night, just to get away from the unsettled and agitated feelings.  I didn't - I managed til 9pm instead!).

Blue 'Moon

I'm absolutely certain my Honeymoon Period of sobriety is well and truly over now!  This means I have to face the hard & cold fact that this will be a battle.  A daily struggle that will sometimes be okay, but will sometimes be tough too.  Even the gym was a chore today (the first time I have genuinely found it hard to get motivated for it in the morning).

It's the humdrum that concerns me. The daily grind of maintaining.  But, s'pose we all have to do that in our own way.  I also have to come to terms with the fact that I am odd, and I'll occasionally have to do odd things - e.g. like going to bed at a ridiculously early time, if that's what helps me to deal with things.   So that's me right now:  My name's Mr Partridge.  And I am odd...  (you say, "Hello, Mr Partridge!")

Hit the Sauce!

My sponsor tells me that, apparently, I have completed step 2 ("Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity") - and I had some homework as part of my doing this step.


I had to write a job ad for my Higher Power.  Essentially, I went with the approach that it's highly likely there will not always be mutual admiration and cooperation between me and such an entity - they'll be times when I don't want a bar of him (I've decided he may as well be male - but I'm not using the proper (pro)noun), and he'll have to persist and work through that!  In fact, you may as well have a butchers:

So, on to Step 3 ("Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.") - notice that famous proper (pro)noun; it get's everywhere (especially in the Big Buggering Book)!

Serenity, No?

This one is about commitment - the willingness to buy-in, jump-in with two feet, get in the middle of the lifeboat, etc.  and let Mr H.P. carry me along.  The idea is that this is, of course, to help stop drinking - but I'm told  it moves into one's life holistically!  Mmmmm - we shall see.


A lot of people I've spoke to in AA said they really got stuck on this Step - and, yet, one day, got bloody bored and fed-up of questioning and succumbed, threw in the towel.  Others, including devout atheists (try and reconcile that one!), had a 'Eureka' moment and understood it, got it finally and comprehended once-and-for-all!  Again, we shall see. 


My sponsor said that he was dreading this one, as he thought I'd plague him with bastards of questions.  And, yes, I want to do just that!  But, I reckon, right now, doing that may just be counter-productive.  It's Early Doors and I really have to keep it simple, and over-complication will close my noggin - I must stay open-minded and give things a try. Granted, sometimes I just can't help myself, and sometimes I say them aloud - but this smart-arse needs to realise he has a lot to learn!

God in the Machine!!!

I'm embracing the AA Programme more than I ever expected to.  But, as always, I try to over-analyse.

The thing that I'm particularly struggling with is Step 3, "Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."; and the implications of citing God in subsequent steps, eg. "4. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him."

The 'Big Book' talks quite explicitly about the Higher Power being God.  Now, I believe that there is a power driving me that I don't necessarily understand, but the literature is adamant that this is not manifested within me.  That I'm passive to some other external agent.  Why can't that power, that energy, regardless of whether it is tangible or not, be coming from inside me?  I don't consciously choose to beat my heart 75 times per minute, but something is making me do it.  Alright, granted that this analogy is a little bit obtuse, but I hope you get my point.  And, anyway, I want to take the credit for my turnaround!

I've been finding AA in the most strange places of late.  Taking into account what I've just been banging about, today's particular discovery is quite portentous.



Fawlty Ken

 Up early, as usual, I happened to have a little bout of the Squits (profuse apologies) - incidentally, I used to have them all the time when drinking; I just got used to 'em; these days it's quite unusual (ah, cue my hypochondria!).  I always have a 'bog-book' on hand for those more protracted visits, and my current one is The Bald Trilogy by Ken Campbell (all-round raconteur, philanthropist, Thespian - you'd know him if you'd seen him - crops up on telly, distinctively eccentric voice).  It's a trilogy of his one-man theatre shows that have no doubt made appearances in Edinburgh and the like.

Anyway, the passage (if you excuse the pun) I read made my brain go 'BING!'.  It is/was, as follows:

[bit of background: Ken is having a chin-wag with Hugh Hastings, an occasional acquaintance]
"Anyway, I was having a drink with Hugh in the pub one lunchtime and Hugh started talking about his acting career -
Well actually I hadn't known he'd got one -
A multi-talent: writing naval comedies, playing the piano... and now an acting career -
But this was the extraordinary thing: Hugh Hastings was only interested in playing Third Act Detective Inspectors in thrillers -
THIRD ACT DETECTIVE INSPECTORS!? -
they're the sort of part you get lumbered with, aren't they -
hardly, surely, a career goal? -
'Oh no no no!' -
Not according to Hugh -
'No!' he said. 'No' -
He said: 'The Third Act Detective Inspector is the nearest thing we have today to the fine old tradition of deus ex machina!' -
What's that!? -
Well, in order to understand deus ex machina you've got to go back in time -
Evidently the ancient Greeks, Sophocles and Co, if they'd've got their plots to such a pass that they couldn't logically resolve them -
it would be time then to call down the deus ex machina -
The deus being the god, and the machina this bunch of cogs and rope and wotnot -
And the god comes clanking down -
and with his deific powers he'd be able to put things in harmony again -
And Hugh said: 'Isn't that the same as your Third Act Detective Inspector? -
You've got two-and-a-half acts of human beings fucking up, and then Whoomph! -
The Inspector calls! -
And with his metropolitan magic he puts things back in order?
'No, no,' said Hugh, 'a Third Act Detective Inspector -
Man, it's a theophany. * -
With a Third Act Detective Inspector you can romp away with the thunder with the GLORY of any thriller -
if you know the secret' -
'Well,' I said, 'Here's another half, Hugh -
A secret? You mean there's a secret to playing Third Act Detective Inspectors?' -
'Mmm,' he said, 'oh yes -
first of all, you've got to learn the lines' -
And that was revolutionary talk in those days -
Learn the lines?
you always played a Third Act Detective Inspector with a notebook -
you'd got all your lines written in the notebook -
(poised as if to write answer - in fact reading line: -
'And where were you on the night of the fourteenth?') -
Hugh said, 'Don't even have a notebook -
And then,' he said (and this is the big one) -
'look for clues.' -
Wow -
'Where were you... (looking under hat) -
on the night of er... (finding sausage) -
the fourteenth?... (examining sausage with magnifying glass) -
Wow -

*Theophany: n., pl. -ies. A manifestation of a deity to a man in the form that, though visible, is not necessarily material. [Chambers Dictionary]"


Get a load of that!!!  A 'Theophany'!  Is an understanding of this exactly what I'm looking for?  Is that the intangible power?  Is deus ex machina what we invoke in AA?!!  And, as Hugh says, "if you know the secret": the Programme? and "...you've got to learn the lines": Steps, anyone?!!

Okay, I know, when you look for something hard enough, you can generally find it - all in the interpretation and all that.  But this is what I find without looking for it, completely unexpectedly: a dose of the old squeaky-bums in the smallest room in the house, and out pops (apart from the obvious) the very issue with AA which I've been a-ponderin'!  Now, what's all that about then?! Crackers...

Here Fear Here

A bit of an eye-opener happened yesterday.

I was feeling quite giddy and cocky (despite having the remains of a particularly virulent strain of man-flu - it's real, I tell thee!) but this riding-high feeling subsided a little by the afternoon; leaving me not-necessarily melancholy, but definitely under a bit of a cloud.

Well, I was in a bar (yeah, I know, watch that haircut!) and I happened to be getting a glass of wine for someone whilst I was at the bar.  The bottle was already open and probably hadn't been used for a bit; so the girl behind-the-bar poured a small drop into a glass, which she casually tasted to check it was all good.

Now, the things is, I was absolutely convinced she was gonna ask me to try it!  This filled me with a completely unexpected sense of total fear, if not abject terror!  It was a fleeting moment, passed in the blink-of-an-eye, but it hit me profoundly!  It was genuinely the very first time I have been actually fearful of alcohol (apart from in a couple of dreams) and it shocked me.

Since that moment, I've dwelled on it a little.  Can I safely and 100% be sure that I would've declined?  Even if I had, would I have been tempted, even just an iota?  It reminds me of the resulting feeling (don't know if you've had it) where I've been about to step out to cross the road, only just realising at the very last second that a car was speeding past.  What could have been?  What if I had stepped out?  Right at that moment?? I so very nearly did!  SPLAT!!!  I'm brown bread...

I suppose it's a good thing; maybe it shows that the notorious dreaded complacency hasn't turned my head?  That I can go in pubs, but must be vigilant.  I certainly won't be getting alcohol for anyone from now on - why put myself in potential harm's-way...


But, what I do know is that it bloody-well gave me a right kick in the swannickles, that's for sure!

Gnarly move!!!

My sponsor believes I have a very relaxed approach to recovery which he says he rarely witnesses in these, what are definitely, early days for me.  I've been warned of the potential spike of desire to 'pick up' again and, as I've mentioned before, complacency is my number one enemy after the Demon Drink.  But, according to my sponsoring namesake, the fact I understand that shows that I'm not complacent.

He also articulated that I have indeed "turned my life around 360°." And, yup, I suppose I have - it's funny to hear it said aloud.  There are so many things that are different for the better - to the extent that I actually feel lucky to be an alcoholic!

To say that is probably a bit twisted and facetious (and I never underestimate what my loved ones have had to put up with, for me to arrive at this point) but I would never have the life I have now without it.  I'd never be as motivated and contented, of that I am certain.  Work's a breeze; very little gets me really down (yeah, I have my low days, my troughs - but I know that's exactly what they are, they pass); I 'let things go' when I would otherwise hold resentments; and I've lost four stones!

I really am a changed man and, frankly, it's bloody ace!!!

The Dog Ate It!

I've been absent for some time - all simply down to actually being busy at work!  Things are good, nearly six months of sobriety under my belt now!  So what's new?  I have a sponsor!  So much for me not engaging with 'The Programme'!  It seems to have insidiously crept up on me (although 'insidious' is entirely the wrong word - to me, it sounds negative and underhand.  No, it's been more of a steady warm glow growing inside - how about that for cheesy???  But, who cares - that's exactly what it has been!).

Well, I meet my sponsor every two weeks, as well as at the Friday meeting (incidentally, he is the very person I've mentioned in these cyber-pages before - has the same name as me...) and he gives me homework.  Today's was a list of those times I have tried to give-up and how it made me feel.  Surprisingly, I got the wrong end of the stick and didn't write a list at all.  No, again the frustrated scribbler in me came up with some pretentious ramblings.  As it struck me as being a little like an instant post, here it is, unabridged (as it were):

"The first time I recall being aware of my growing dependency came after I’d moved back home the summer after my graduation.   Plenty of booze had soundtracked my time at University, but I think that my dependency on booze was masked by copious amounts of dope, speed, and LSD.

Having my drugs pipeline cut-off once I’d moved back home, drink was my number one pastime.  I remember one summer’s eve, I’d ‘decided’ not to get any drink in.  That was when I really noticed the anxiety and discomfort.  I managed to hold out for a few hours but, in the end, I was leaving the offie with 6 bottles of Newcastle Brown (my drink of choice at the time), the anxiety and discomfort having been swept away with that decision…

There would be countless times that this scene would be replayed, transposing the venue and choice of drink in a multitude of ways.

But, I continued drinking with my perceived lack of impunity – I hardly remember anytime in my twenties that I went back to any possible attempt at abstention. 

My daughter was born when I was 29, pre-empting a turning-30 crisis one year earlier.  It was from here that a number of attempts were made at stopping drinking; but they were always with the notion that it was merely a break – never contemplating the prospect of long-term abstention (seeing reports of celebrity alcoholics who had long-term sobriety and who had accepted that they just did not drink was completely bafflilng to me – the thought of not having the drink in my life was unfathomable!).

Of course, in the past couple of years, this has changed considerably.  My attempts at stopping drinking were paved with good-intentions.  Many a-time, I would decide ‘this Monday’ that I would not buy any cider, any wine.  Of course today was maybe a Wednesday or Thursday, and this would mean me loading-up until that Monday came along.  Sunday’s were spent finishing off the stock-pile, readying myself for tomorrow’s new resolve. 

Monday would invariably start well.  Pure, solid resolve.  Yet, by the time the journey home was underway, I would always have a million-and-one excuses as to why this Monday was not the right day.  I would inevitably succumb and the amount of times my wife would hear the infamous “I need to call at Tesco”, I (and she) lost count.  She would look disappointed, but in my eyes, she looked fiercely judgemental!  Even more excuse to definitely get the drink now!  It was this type of vindication that I would look for everytime I tried to stop.

Eventually, I ending up seeing an Alcohol counsellor.  This time, admitting I was a heavy drinker, and looking for that elusive control.  Three times I tried a process of steady detox (fully aware of the dangers of alcohol withdrawal – add this awareness to a history of ridiculous hypochondria (did I ever mention, I had rabies once?  Yes, I really did!!!) and, well, you can imagine my thought processes…) – cutting down by 5 units every two days. 

What I fail to mention about these three attempts, is I always knew there was a ‘get-out clause’ just around the corner: an imminent all-inclusive holiday (I could hardly waste all that money and not drink!); my father-in-law’s 60^th Birthday Party (it would be seriously rude for me not to partake in their generous largesse); an important Man City match (now you can’t have football without booze, can you?!).  So I probably managed a cumulative 3-4 weeks not drinking.

Those weeks were garbage!  I spent most of the time uttering a mantra of “Booze is nothing to miss!” without really believing it.  I would walk past bars and pubs and look longingly in at the montage of happy-go-lucky, joyously fun-loving images of the vibrant, exciting people inside and want to be one of ‘them’. 

In fact, there was one occasion where I did manage about 5 weeks of abstination.  But, again, I had a particular motivation: I was due a liver scan having suffered with what I convinced myself was IBS, but then clocked up liver function bloods that were six times higher than an accepted ‘dangerous’ level.  I had no choice, my hypochondriac brain was in overdrive – if it wasn’t just out-and-out cirrhosis, it would at least be HIV and my boozing had simply been a factor that had highlighted my impending demise. 

I seem to recall that those five weeks went quite fast – it's amazing how obsessing about death, and the ignominy of being the architect of my own end seemed to send time flying. 

Well, I had my liver-scan and lo-and-behold, not much to worry about.  Yeah, a bit of fatty deposits but nothing too startling and my liver enzymes had settled to a relatively ‘hazardous’ state.  Green light!  Back to the blissfully loving arms of the beautiful booze I leapt, and by God, she made me most welcome!

So giving up and how it made me feel?  Powerless, weak, and utterly at its mercy.  I was aware of these feelings, but only like a distant echo, or like a car-alarm way off in the distance so as not cause any immediate distraction.  Eventually, you just get used to it – as we know, like the frog who’s boiling his knackers off but just thinks things have got ‘a little bit warm’. 

I was that frog. I see that now."

Peace. Out.

   

Watch This Space!

Mmmm - I feel a post is a-brewing....

Nebulous???

Can I be Frank?

Off to my meeting at lunch and I might say a bit about my 'letting go' experiences this week.

'Shares' can comprise of anything you want, with varying levels of intensity and earnestness.  If you were forced to categorise, however, I suppose the majority fit into two main categories: a recount of your history and decline into alcoholism, and your subsequent salvation in AA; or an account of your week's experiences being sober - what you got up to, how you were affected, and so on.

Obviously, as I've said, the content comes in very different degrees of emotion and feeling - some can be down-right harrowing, others can be bloody hilarious.  I believe, regardless of whether I like the person or not, all shares are valid and mean a lot to the person sharing them.

Tart

Now there is one bloke at today's meeting, Mr Butcher (not his real name. Mind you, the name he uses at AA might not be his real name; so my made up name may be a made up name for his made up name - a kind of pseudopseudonym...  erm, you get my point), who does not seem to share my view!

Mr Butcher tells stories of harrowing gloom and misery.

Now, there's nothing wrong with that - all shares, experiences etc. are valid.  However, Butcher reveals his disdain for anyone who dares be even on the very slight side of humourous, or have some levity about them.  "I can't be fuckin' hearing about someone who learnt to bake fuckin' bakewell tarts when they fuckin' turned sober", he will say, in his charming Glaswegian accent, "This is a serious business!"

Of course it is, Butcher!  Alcoholism is a fatal, evil disease that one should never be complacent about.  But, surely, whatever way the alcoholic in question deals with their disease is their entitlement. There are no rights and wrongs about this.  As I've said before, if it works, then work it.  Butcher fails to see this.

I must say, this man just exudes bile and nastiness.  Sure, I've encountered folks in AA that I don't particularly like; but Mr Butcher is, without doubt, the most unpleasant character I've met in the Fellowship; and he might well be in my top 5 of vile people outside it too!

You smoke, I choke... Cough!

I got an opportunity to flex my 'letting go' muscles this morning, and it was extremely rewarding.

I arrive at my local train station - an open-plan, underfunded, spartan affair.  There are 'no smoking' signs on the platform - which is daft, as this station is outside, in the middle of nowhere.  Folks smoke literally feet away from this Northern Rail-enforced 'exclusion zone' and, ironically, are very close to fellow waiting passengers.

looks like we got ourselves a reader...

This morning, I decide to head right along to the very end of the platform, away from the rest of the people.  I light up.  Remember, I'm outside, a good 30-40 feet away from everyone.  But not everyone...  An interesting chap was pacing up and down.  Walking past me, coming back, passing me again, turning round, and repeat.  He's not a train employee, has no 'official' capacity.  Just a fellow passenger.  One of us not one of them.

Well, my new friend engaged me and, within seconds, I'd got the measure of this character...

"The rules don't apply to you then?" he says on his downstream pass.

I shrug (bear in mind, my earphones are in. I'm listening to a very mellow bit of Tim Buckley).

"There are signs all along the station" he says, upstream.  My friend is getting agitated.

Now, the old me would, within seconds, find himself amidst a full-blown argument with this goon.  Not any more, I let it go - why should this 'little man' spoil my morning?

"Just go away, tedious man." I reply, wearily.

I smoke casually, enjoying every last molecule of nicotine.  Meanwhile, up and down my new pal paces, firing off missives on each pass:  I catch "No wonder the world is like it is today!" his blood pressure visibly rising; the next pass, he throws his arms up in consternation; and there were others, but I missed them due to my music.  As this pathetic man gets more and more angry, I can't help but get more and more amused.

Next up, the disposal of the dimp.  Normally, I would be perfectly happy to put this in the bin, but not today.  I flick the butt onto the railtrack - bad timing, he missed my gesture.  But, oh no, my little Urban Warrior has not finished.  Downstream, he has more to say.

"What now?", as I remove an earphone.

"I suppose you didn't put it in the bin then?".  Knew he couldn't resist!

"I ate it!", I reply.

Now, granted, it is the law.  And rules are meant to be followed, or we have anarchy and all that.  But the very fact that this 'rule' is in place, is preposterous.  It's outside, it's not a 'proper' closed-in station, and I was further away from everyone (apart from my new buddy) than the non-law-flouting smokers near the platform entrance. But thanks to 'letting go', I just didn't want to dignify this pompous prig with any form of response.  And, my oh my, was it satisfying.  My morning has been thoroughly delightful.  I bet his hasn't...

Let's hope I see Mr Angry tomorrow - I think I'll light-up two cigs at once!  Maybe even offer him one?

Bourbon Boulevard

I've had a bit of a strange weekend.  Saturday was curious as my reactions to the inevitable defeat at Old Trafford surprised me.  Normally, I'd be filled with despair, anger, abject disappointment.  But, this time, I practised an old-fashioned bit of AA-esque 'letting go'.  And, by God, it works!  I just didn't mind.  Of course, I'm disappointed, but absolutely nowhere near the extent I have been in the past.

Sunday was oddly tough.  I was very very grumpy and M was really getting on my nerves (I hate feeling that way about my daughter, but she's particularly clingy these days and it's nigh-on impossible for me & L to get any Husband & Wife time...).  Plus, I felt as though I'd pigged out and ate far too much this weekend; and couple that with Sunday being my non-Gym day (which, taking into account my obsessive and addictive nature, makes me feel agitated), I was struggling.  There was a bag of giant chocolate buttons in the fridge and I just could not leave them alone.  I went through nearly the entire bag with a ridiculous voracity - and the fierceness of the way I snaffled 'em freaked me out!  Yeah, I know, it seems a bit excessive to feel this way over a bit of chocolate; but the nature of the way I craved them made me think of the way I used to go at booze.  Drink, drink, drink until there is absolutely nothing left in the house!  One chocolate button is one too many, and an ocean (assume they're melted) is never enough!!!

Anyway, feel a damn-sight better today.  I always have to remember that the lows are simply transient, the highs are a treat, and the plateau is cosy, calm and a jolly-nice place to potter along on.

Because of Derby Day...

The Manchester Derby is coming up at weekend; and will no doubt be watched through my fingers with a feeling of anxiety, nausea, and trepidation.  It's hard to imagine how one single stupid football game can matter so damn much - but it does!  The memories of these momentous occasions are mostly of vast disappointment and anger; with rare flashbacks of sheer bliss (Shaun Wright Phillips's goal making it 4-1 at Maine Road; and him celebrating with an impromptu robot dance followed by a fake collapse - Heaven!).  And this year, it means more than ever.  United could potentially hit the slump everyone's been waiting for and could have possible ramifications on which side of Manchester bag the title (never thought I'd hear myself say such a thing - although I don't think for a minute that we're in with a chance of being Champions!).  I will be kakking my knickers!

Being a City fan has never been an easy ride, and it's still torture.  I think my team are doomed - I reckon some ageing gypsy hexed us with a miserable curse that can never be broken! The misery of plummeting to the third tier of English football (incidentally, the genesis of the rather existential "We're not really here!" chant); Fergie-Time at Old Trafford (pfffttt!) allowing that shit Michael Owen in; and a million other soul-destroying disappointments, make for dysfunctional bitter and twisted souls.

Goaaaaaallll!!!

And to think, a lifetime of misery and disenchantment is down to piss!  I kid you not.  Yes, I became a City fan because of the humble human need to wee-wee.  Harking back to being 7 years-old at Junior School - the boys' toilets had three urinals.  It was customary and understood that the urinal you used denoted your football loyalties:  right for Man U, left for Man City, and the middle for all others.  I religiously (I didn't pray at it or anything like that!) used the left hand piss-pot.  Why? Well, my hometown is primarily United; and who uses a middle urinal anyway, when there's the possibility of someone stepping up next to you (actually, in adulthood, I've always found it very peculiar for people to use a urinal next to someone when they can put that distance in where another spot is available)?; as a result, there was never a queue for the pale blue loo!  Maybe, I was exercising the desire to be an individual; to not follow the crowd, sheep-like, and support the obviously more successful, fashionable team.  Or maybe it was simply because I had a weak bladder and, to avoid queuing and the subsequent  ignominy of dribbling in my under-crackers, I went for the fast-track urinal!  Either way, such an allegiance was ingrained in my very being, such that I am hopelessly devoted to Manchester City - and I thank piss for that!!!!

Marlboro Red-handed!

M rumbled me having a smoke out the back last night!  Lots of wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued.  Jeez, talk about feeling guilty.  I'd promised her that I would stop as she get's very worried and emotional over me smoking  (down to some heavy indoctrination at school on the evils of tobacco); but I've simply needed to smoke lately.

Although it was unpleasant and sad to see her upset over this, I hate to say it, it was also very funny.  Some of the things she said required all the will in the world to stop laughing.  As she was lecturing and haranguing me, L was sat on the lap-top also doing her best to stifle torrents of laughter!  M was coming out with things like, "How long has this been going on?!!", "You've been doing this behind my back!!!", "You are such an idiot!!!" and the famous, "How could you??!!"  L said it was like some kind of flash forward to M having an argument with a scumbag of a boyfriend - and I see what she means (although, of course, M will not be allowed boyfriends until she is at least 30...).

Funniness aside though, it is a tough one.  I've said before, I'm not ready to give up yet.  I just know an attempt right now would be doomed to failure.  But, I feel so darn guilty for puffing away behind my daughter's back (as she so eloquently pointed out!).  I should listen to that advert (that I think the Tory scum have pulled anyway, to save money): "You'd do anything for your kids.  Why not do this?"  I just know I can't do it yet and I feel like such a heel.  But I really would do anything for my daughter, and I really ought to do this...

You'll know when I'm trying to quit - these posts will probably get really really dark...

You talking to me..?

I only attend one meeting a week these days.  Going more than that became problematic (for reasons I don't want to go into).  Although, I hear only one meeting a week is considered insufficient.  But that viewpoint just feels like yet another example of prescriptive and dogmatic behaviour from my fellow AA denizens.  Personally, that one meeting does more than enough for me - keeps me on the straight and narrow and reminds me that I'm not the only person who has a skewed-up, puddled head!

You even hear some folks in AA talk about '90 meetings in 90 days'!  And some really try and do this.  Personally, that level of soul-searching/exposing would literally drive me right back into the wicked arms of the Siren Booze!  At the end of the day, there are bound to be people in AA who I don't particularly like just as there are 'outside the Fellowship'; and to subject myself to such large volumes of 'shares' will guarantee (by sheer laws of probability) that some of them will annoy the bloody shite out of me!  Imagine that! Everyday, for three months solid!!!

Now, AA teaches us that we should not dwell on such negative thoughts about our fellow man - but, jeez, it's just plain fact that this isn't always possible.  You might as well try and ask me to feel positive about sitting on the bog during a particularly vigorous bout of diarrhoea!

More power to 'em!

These days, I feel I have very little new to say in this thing.  Life just ticks on by and I don't drink.  It's not a 'battle' nor a 'struggle' or anything burdensome at all - I just don't drink.  As result of having nowt much to say about alcoholism, I might take my first foray into sharing my musical tastes.

I adore Elbow - for me, Guy Garvey is a genius (a word used far too bloody often; but in this fella's case, the cap fits).  His song, 'Great Expectations' is quite possibly the most romantic song ever written (see and hear for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khrDr5v_O2I).  Mind you, there are so many beautiful and wonderful songs in Elbow's repertoire, it's so hard to pick a favourite.

Their new single, 'Neat Little Rows', is out soon and, if you're expecting an immediately accessible smash, you'll be sorely disappointed.  On first listen, in all honesty, it's a bit of a curio.  But, I have a feeling it will be one of those songs that insidiously plants itself in your consciousness and, before long, you adore it!  Personally, I prefer the new song 'Lippy Kids', that will no doubt be on their new album.  Amusing, clever lyrics ("I never perfected that simian stroll.") coupled with beautiful mellifluous music.  There's even a whistled refrain in there!  You can check both songs out at http://www.buildarocketboys.com/

Tits!

And while I'm at it with music, why not books as well?!  I implore anyone to read the books of Paul Auster - they are truly amazing!  'The Music of Chance' and 'The Book of Illusions' are seriously top picks.  Eat your shoplifting, alcoholic hearts out, Richard & Judy!!!

Good Hair Days

Things continue along a positive vein (apart from a dip the other day - see last post) but I'm still very very new to this, so I must always remember to take nothing for granted.

Anything 'else', sir?

I had my first proper night out in a pub last night (my Christmas do didn't really count, as I'd had enough of that and bailed by 5.30pm).  Yeah, I know.  If you go into a barber's shop you come out with a haircut and all that!  Well, my hair's the same, didn't even get a shave, and definitely didn't pick up 'something for the weekend' (suppose that's married life for you - ho ho)...

I really enjoyed myself.  Granted I got a bit agitated by the end of the evening; and the odd drunken person got on my pip a little; but all told, I had a lovely lovely time.  Thankfully, some wonderful folks were out and it was a pleasure to share an evening with 'em (J & K - you know who you are!!!).  Not excepting L (the perennially curly missus) who is my rock and no messin'!

Although, I do worry that I have a desire to tell all and sundry about my plight - "I'm an alcoholic, me!" (the postman didn't look particularly impressed...)  I also fear that I witter on about my sobriety far too much and bore every poor bloody soul to death (says me, writing this gloriously self-indulgent drivel for your delectation)! I've resolved to try not to mention it so much, as I'll start sounding like some fundamentalist vegan or devout God-botherer; constantly blithering on about how honey-production is exploitation of bees or how much Jesus loves every last one of you...

I'm still smoking the tabs.  Which, sadly, I bloody love.  It really annoys me that (as I wasn't smoking when I was boozing) the money I'd save on pouring grog down me neck is now being frittered on smell-sticks.  But, like I say, I love it and I'm simply not ready to quit.  A man's gotta have a vice (particularly an obsessive freak like yours truly), and it's either that or gambling or whores!  And it's probably much cheaper - athough, nearly seven feckin quid for 20 Marboro! I remember when I lived in Sheffield, 25 Royals from the Happy Shopper 'round the corner were two quid! Incidentally, this very same Happy Shopper used to sell a litre and half of 'alcoholic beverage' for £1.99 - yes, that was what it was called on the label.  What a bargain!  Less than two quid for the same effect as laser eye surgery performed by a one-armed break-dancer with advanced Parkinson's Disease!

Fly Paper

I mentioned in a previous post about being in the process of transformation (think I've predicted I'll emerge from my chrysalis as an extra-clumsy daddy longlegs... with a beard...).  There's no doubt that this is the case; as my life, my psyche, my everything is (feels) so different without the drink.  Without sounding too bloody pompous and over-intellectualising (or rather, with sounding these things - you decide...), it has been and continues to be a metamorphosis - as in Kafka's book of the same name!  In particular, the way in which Gregor's (main character, newly transformed insect) language becomes unintelligible to everyone around him.  It feels as if very few people would now understand my motivations and thought-processes, as if in an entirely foreign language to them.

I sense this sounds conceited.  There's almost an intimation of superiority about this.  As if I'm setting myself apart from the rest of society, due to some enlightening epiphany that has brought me understanding that others simply cannot grasp.  That's not my intention.  It's just that if I explained this or that emotion, intention, action etc. to a 'normal' person, they would look at me blankly, perplexed and without empathy.

To be honest, this change sometimes frightens me - as if I'm evolving in a direction that I have no control over; with an end product that will not necessarily be what everyone wants.  Yeah, in fact, right now, it scares me a lot...

* You may gather I'm feeling a bit odd today.  

Where did you get that hat...?

Been a strange weekend.  The missus had a bit of a car crash, and I hardly eased things yesterday with some complicated unpleasantness that I won't go into detail about.  Needless to say, being a 'grown-up' isn't always particularly fun (mind you, not that anyone ever said it was!).

I've heard folks say at AA that you have to be selfish and ruthless if you want long term sobriety.  I never quite got this, because for me, my family comes first.  However, I now understand what this means. I've had to make a call that is far from ideal; but I believe that, to protect my sobriety, I have little choice.  Like I say, I won't go into detail - but it seems like the 'appropriate' thing to do.  Notice how I don't say 'right' here - ultimately, I'm new to all this business.  Very new.  And I'll probably make some calls and judgements that don't necessarily turn out the way I expect them to. And within days, I may realise that I've made a misjudgement and change my mind. All I know is that, right now, I believe I have to do certain things, and sadly they will cause some pain.  I don't like it.  Far from it.  I think 'ruthless', unfortunately, sums it up.

This may seem very strange, but I visualise my sobriety like my own child.  That notion that you would do absolutely anything to protect your offspring (I would carry my daughter barefoot over a desert of broken glass if I had to!) is exactly how I feel.  I would do anything it takes to keep my sobriety safe; and never do anything that could put it in jeopardy.

Give me a break!

On a lighter (yet, as usual, surly) note, I have a particular bug-bear that's been irritating me all blummin winter.  I have noticed a disturbing number of people ('grown' adults, I am talking about here) wearing woolly hats that have two bobbles strategically placed to look like bears' ears.  Add buttons (of which I have a pathological aversion to - don't get me started on that one) or black patches for eyes and you have yourself, in what appears to be the majority of cases, a bloody Giant Panda on your head!  How bloody bloody  cute!  Now, I can understand this of girls, say, age 5-9; but grown women?!!  Ridiculous!

But get this!  I kid you not.  On the train this very morning was a 'grown' MAN wearing one of these abominations.  But, oh no, a panda is too orthodox for this wacky, quirky individual.  He was wearing a hat that looked like one of the monsters from the Monster Munch adverts of old; replete with giant buttons (eurrgh!) for eyes, and dangly-down bits that were either representing teeth or tentacles (I couldn't quite work out which).  This person should be removed from society immediately; because he will no doubt go on to commit more equally heinous crimes, and ruin the mornings of countless innocent bystanders in the process!  Come the Revolution...

And the Oscar goes to...

In the past, if work was giving me even minor hassles, I'd react like it was the end of the world - and, Jesus, what a perfect excuse to have a drink or ten.  Not that I needed an excuse - but even the smallest bit of justification would assuage my guilt - "oh my god! The cheese out of my breville has escaped!!!  What am I going to do!!!  I can't cope!  Aaaarrrrgghhhh!!!  I need a drink!"

Right now, work is throwing all sorts of difficulties at me.  Particularly team management; and juggling this and plate-spinning that - but it just doesn't seem to phase me.  I know what I need to to do, and how to address these things - so I'll just get on with them.  Simple as.  Cliché Alert: if life gives you lemons, then make lemonade (although, in my head I nearly wrote 'mayonnaise' - more of a Heston Blumenthal recipe, that one)...

But important stuff doesn't seem to bother me.  However... Trivial crap does (you might have gleaned this from my misanthropic ramblings about the more senior members of our society).  For example, it seems like inanimate objects conspire against me.  I try shutting the utensil drawer and some bastard whisk or an arseface potato masher gets stuck and the drawer wont shut!  The little bastards do it on purpose!!!.

The following three things that drive me to an apoplectic rage right now:

1. When a knife is left on the bread board with even the tiniest bit of jam on it - any subsequent spreading action, where no jam is desired, contaminates the slice of toast/bread.
2. It's pretty cold in the mornings at the moment, innit?  Well, when I'm in the shower, and that goddam wet, cold shower curtain accidentally touches me, I get so bleedin' angry.  It ruins my morning.
3. The way in which iceberg lettuce is packaged in Tesco.  It rips, it twists, it drives me insane! (And brown lettuce - what's that all about?  It's sent to test me!)

I believed that becoming sober, doing AA and so on, would make me a more stoic, tolerant soul.  And, yes, in some ways it has; but generally I am still a grumpy, miserable, and deeply flawed individual.  Ah, well.

P-p-p-pick up a...

Ooops!

I know I'm going on about my geriatric friends down at the gym/pool, but observing them this morning made me think of a zoo.  They obviously clamber into their figure-hugging(!) swimwear before the pool is ready; and when the staff give them the all-clear, they emerge from a little door at the far end of the building en masse.  So, out they waddle, and only one thought comes to mind. Penguins!  A gaggle (is that the right collective noun??) of blummin' portly penguins!! Yes, they look exactly like penguins being let out by the zoo-keeper.  Sadly, not one of them has comically fallen over yet, or slid into the pool on their bellies in an oh-so-cute way... but give it time.  Think I might video them each morning - £250 would come in nicely care of You've Been Framed!

Thought I'd just say that I feel blummin' ELECTRIC today - yet, the pessimist in me always thinks, "yeah, but what's around the corner, bozo?  It won't last you know!"  Just can't help it.  Never seem to accept that things could possibly go well for me. I always feel things will eventually go tits up, or that I'll get found out for being a fraud, or that I'm bound to let me and everyone around me down.  Although, a little bit of me has decided that, if things are gonna go pear-shaped, I might as well enjoy the ups while I can.  Make hay while the sun shines, and all that...

If it works, work it... and work out!

Had my first meeting in about a month on Friday and it was soooo good!  I felt like sharing, but it opened with an old-timer from Scotland who came out with some very maudlin sombre stuff (and, jeezaloo, did he go on and on and on), and continued in this downbeat vein for a bit, so I changed my mind.  But, typical of the ebb and flow of these meetings, the mood started to lighten and the theme started to turn towards acceptance.  Acceptance of our alcoholism and acceptance of making changes that are not just about drinking.  Having gone from deciding to not put me oar in, I again changed my mind.

My share came down to confessing that I just don't see the point of the Steps or rather the rigidity of them.  All I know is that those meetings give me something, and keep me on the right path.

Incidentally. these are the pesky blighters:

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

I believe I have been doing some of these things anyway (obviously, #1; #4 in a kinda way; #9 also in a way; #10 trying to). But you can see how 'religious' the terminology is - which is offputting from the start.  I have my own spirituality, but the nature of some of these things just doesn't seem fitting in my life.  Anyway, a chap shared in response to me (I've mentioned him before; he has the same first name as me - I'll call him Mr P from now on) - well, Mr P said that it took him 14 months to start to 'do' the steps and get a sponsor, but believes that for long-term sobriety I'll have to do the Steps "just like us poor bastards had to."  Well, I'm open-minded (more so than ever before) and, maybe, he's right.  We'll just have to wait and see.  But Mr P did say that whatever works for me, then all is well and good - i.e. "if it works then work it!"

Another sign that my mindset is changing is that I've started going to the gym - and I don't just go feeling it's a chore - I actually bloody love it!  To the point that I now go everyday before work and will also do a bigger sesh on Saturdays.  But I tell you what get's me goat about going in the morning.  The morning crowd's average age is about 75 and they look at you as if you're intruding on their territory!  One old biddy woman was talking about newcomers in an obviously negative light; quite openly in front of me as if I wasn't there - the only reason I didn't say something to the wizened old crone was that I was too knackered and out of breath!

Dead yet???

You look down at the swimming pool at this time, and it's like septuagenarian soup!  I used to go swimming in amongst these cantankerous lot and they used to hate my presence.  If you dared choose to swim in one of 'their' lanes they looked at you as it you'd just done a brown baby boy in there!  Why do they have to go at that time of day?!  They've got all bloody day to get in there but, oh no, "I go for my swim at 7am then I get my paper at 8.12am and then I have a cup of tea at 11.17am..." and so on and bloody so forth!  What about people that have to go to work?! We've not got all day. We have to go at that time if we want a swim before work.  Cranky old bastards - at least some of them die off from time to time and free up a bit of space...

Long Time Gone

Jeez, not done this for AGES!  It appears I get the motivation to blog only when I'm on company time - back to work today having been off for Christmas for nearly three weeks!  Avoided most work today on the pretence that I'm 'easing myself in'; nothing to do with being inherently lazy.

I've been meaning to resuscitate this blog for too long now, and a good friend of mine was bemoaning its absence - hence I've been inspired to put neurotically picked skin and bitten nails to keyboard.  It's good to be back.

Well, what the heckers has happened in my ongoing battle of Man vs. Booze?  In a nutshell, this "War on Sherry" (TM) is an on-going success for this Government of One.  Despite the odd skirmish and insurrection, the home forces are repelling all attacks with relative ease...

Christmas.  A wonderful period for most.  But for some, not so.  And I take the liberty of saying that those  'some' include a helluva lot of alcoholics.  I expected it to be a breeze, enjoy the Big Day opening presents and making it all about L & M (My Main Girls).  And, yeah, it was a nice family Christmas - M got spoilt rotten and loved every minute of it.  Unfortunately, however, I was taken aback by how difficult it really was (and L, being an intuitive wife, sensed that difficulty and, in turn, felt it was stressful.).  I think matters were compounded by me being particularly knackered and having chosen to stop smoking on that day.  All told, a bad recipe.

The thing is, it’s not that I wanted a drink, more that I wished that I could be able to have a drink.  It was the only time I’ve felt it ‘unfair’ that I’m an alcoholic; unfair that I couldn’t have that ‘day off’.  Particularly on the 'day off' that everyone else gets.  It was a struggle and it was tense - I actually got in bed at 7.30pm simply to cocoon myself away from it (although, it's highly likely that I was in bed by that time on previous Christmas Days also - only those times I was pie-eyed and woe-begone).  Anyway, got through it.

It's now been over 10 weeks of sobriety and in some ways, it feels so much longer.  Sadly, cigarettes have become my surrogate vice and I've failed three times over the festive period to sack them (ridiculously, having only re-started smoking again about 6 weeks ago, after being a non-smoker for nearly a year!).  The problem is, is that I bloody enjoy smoking; and when I've previously quit, I was ready to quit.  I'd had enough.  Right now, I can't say that.  So, I'm trying a cutting-down strategy of 5 a-day.  Good luck with that, says the imaginary sarcastic bastard who is thoroughly disappointed about my successes and wants me to fail at something - just like the good old days, he says!  Well, those 'good' old days were not so good - so the miserable bastard had better 'get with the programme'.  

Speaking of, not been to AA now for at least a month.  Don't particularly miss it, but it'll be good to get back in there on Friday.  In fact, I've decided that the Friday meeting will be my one and only meeting, as I prefer going on my own - AA can get complicated and the-simpler things are, the-better.

So, a whole new year, with a whole bunch of stuff ahead.  And more blogging!  Now I'm back at work, I've got to find something to help me avoid doing my job, haven't I???