busy day today. all the usual Sunday stuff. including a lunch here with friends with G&T’s/sherry beforehand, wine and pudding wine with.  that was fine. didn’t want any, friend knows I’m not drinking. was resigned to a “so are you still on the wagon?” conversation in front of the assembled ranks of kids (am convinced I am going to be invited to one or other of their schools to speak on My Life As A Reformed Boozer – why do adults think this is ok to ask me about in front of my kids? grrrr) but no. no mention of it.

other adults had varying amounts of wine, no-one got silly, lovely lunch all round. felt justified afterwards in tucking into chocolates with a will.

oh, but silly me, had forgotten golden rule of ‘even if it feels fine, plan a treat afterwards’.

I was enjoying feeling clearheaded this afternoon, getting washing in from line (hurrah for sunny day!) and Wolfie pops up like that charmer Leslie Phillips: “Oh, hellooooo……”

According to Wolfie, since I have finished the 100 days now, I could go back to drinking exactly like I did before. Not even moderation. The full enchilada. Which is, clearly, INSANE.

Retired inside to fetch my shotgun to discover that my husband had left a hardly-touched glass of sherry on the window sill. (He does not have any issues with alcohol, can you tell?) Down the sink it went.

It’s definitely the witching hour and I’m now safely outside my second cranberry and tonic. I’ll have something to eat in a minute.

I’m still here. I’m ok.

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