Google referrer of the day "cock suckling" - presumably from someone who is interested in the nutrients a penis can provide, rather than any sexual function.
This morning at about 11am, after almost a week without a drink, I eased the cap off a bottle of Stella Artois beer... and poured it down the sink. I wasn't caught in some alcoholic's struggle with the booze, it's just that at my party someone had put a bottle of wine and a bottle of beer in the freezer (either for a joke, or to cool them, only to forget that they were there). I thawed them out, but looking at the contents I decided they had probably been adversely affected by the experience and so I'd throw them away.
At this stage, not drinking is actually a welcome relief, if not a joy. I suddenly feel much fitter, my mind is sharper and I'm getting much more done. As with every year I do this, I am seriously considering giving up all together. But by the end of my month I will be thinking that I'm boring and my evil and rebellious side will come to the fore and doubtless I will fall off the wagon into a steaming pile of ordure and horse cocks (sorry fellas. I just love having you visit).
Having said that, tonight I went to a party and had the best time I've ever had sober and because I didn't really draw attention to the fact I wasn't drinking alcohol, no-one else really noticed. I usually feel too shy in these situations to get by without a drink to loosen me up (and to give me an excuse to behave like an arse), but I actually felt so happy (for the first time in ages - almost like alcohol is a depressant or something) and relaxed that I didn't need it. It was fun watching the people get drunk and amusing being sober enough to register the stupid things they were saying and doing. And yet I was not doing any stupid things myself and when they drunkenly made offensive comments about my weight or my hair I was able to laugh them off without getting maudlin or offended. Because because I was sober I could see that they were just drunk.
The novelty will wear off, I know and I am aware I am being evangelical and unrealistic, but I know I drank too much last year and it's reassuring to realise that there is the option to abstain.
The funniest thing at the party however, was an encounter with the also sober comedian Adam Bloom. We were discussing which Edinburgh Festival had been our favourite. I plumped for 2001 and "Christ on a Bike" because I had never enjoyed doing a show as much as that one, but his best was 1998. I had mixed feelings about that year, I said, because I hadn't been performing in my play that time. Adam, however, was sure that I had been. "Yes you were," the insane comic countered, "that was the year you got your kit off."
"No," I told him, "That was in Excavating Rita, the year before."
But Adam would brook no disagreement. He is noted for his exceptional memory and he was sure it was 98, because he could remember the people he was sitting next to and they hadn't been there in 97. I informed him I was positive it was 98 as my last play "It's Not the End of the World" was written and set in 1999 and "Playing Hide and Seek With Jesus" was the year before that one and I wasn't in it and so didn't get my kit off.
Adam, possibly slightly arrogantly, thought he was in the right and that I may have made some mistake over the chronology of my own work. He was so sure he said he'd bet me a tenner.
Although his confidence had initially shaken my faith in my own memory, I had by now definitively worked out that I was correct and said that we should make it a hundred. Other comedians were gathering around to see what the fuss was and getting out phones with internet access to see if we could ascertain the truth.
Adam would not accept my own website as proof of the matter as if I was wrong I might have got it wrong on here as well, and so was instigating some scheme where we would both give a hundred pounds to a referee, who when the truth had been reached at some future date, would give the money to the winner.
Ben Moor was there and had also worked out that Adam was incorrect, due to the fact that he hadn't been in Edinburgh in 98 and yet had seen Excavating Rita in Edinburgh. Adam suddenly lost a bit of confidence in his position. His pathway to defeat was ineluctable. He declared things were getting out of hand and that maybe the bet should be ten pounds after all.
He realised too late that he'd got the plays confused and that I'd been naked in the archaeology play, not the Christ one. He recalled that I had in fact been sitting near him in the audience and had offered my seat to Frank Skinner who had had to sit on the steps (oh yes, I was a very popular playwright). He handed over the tenner.
It was a small, but enjoyable victory. If only all my bets were based on my own life then I'd be a billionaire.
I'm going to give my winnings to Scope. And let me remind you that you can also sponsor me for my Marathon run through the link on this page. You don't even have to make a fool of yourself to do it!
