'One Last More' The Secret Diary of a Working Wino

  So Rob and I have returned from a wonderful 10 days in the UAE combining business and pleasure, well ‘Business’ I say in the loosest sense of the Word, and only if you can count as a legitimate Business, Rob squeezing around his boxers and socks a suitcase full of ‘Camel’ fags bound for home, where our very own entrepreneurial in-house ‘ Del boy Dec’, will be waiting to accept the consignment and distribute to his bunch of misfit Uni mates.   All ready and willing to hand over their well borrowed student grant cash to feed their 40 a day habits.   We don’t judge in the Jones household. Each to their own slow and steady death of choice…. blah blah   Anyway the holiday was a blast as we rubbed shoulders in the swanky Dubai Hotels with the Instagrammer Elite.   Now normally on holiday I position my sunbed towards the sun, close to the bar where they can hook me up and I can mainline gin with minimal effort. But on this sober holiday I thought without ...

  This sober bitch is getting very pissy with life at the moment.   Its April, its fucking freezing and Rob is on a Money supermarket dot com mission to save as much gas as we can by not heating the house, not running hot water and saving as much petrol as we can by walking the fuck everywhere. His idea of effectively heating the bedroom is farting uncontrollably in the bed and comfortably bedding down into a duvet cocooned sleep position like a fat fucking blue bottle on a cow pat…. I am not impressed.   Don’t get me wrong, I do love a bit of Martin Lewis in the morning and his saucy tips on effective pump action just as much as the next menopausal woman but fuck me I am freezing.   Robs been stockpiling gas, frantically taking notes of every fucking meter we own, tutting away, re recording the slightly moved meter numbers and searching around the surrounding fields looking for a suspected marijuana plantation that could potentially be dipping into our i...

  Tomorrow is day 100 since I broke it off and ended my love affair with the Gin Bottle.  Gone are the days of dancing with the devil, tangoing with tossers and shimmying with sharks to get a round in at the bar.   Money saved according to my booze breaker app is apparently £800.  This figure is actually bollocks as the app only takes liquid into consideration for savings, AND they only had £4 a bottle wine to select so I went for Hardy’s!!!  ALSO methinks, what about the accompanying daily chalky consumption and hard cash saved on Gaviscon!   Hummm The mind boggles and I literally am hyperventilating into my empty mini egg packet at the thought of the cash saved and how fast I can get to Selfridges to treat myself.   Sober people used to bore the shite out of me and in the past if I stumbled on one whilst out and about in a bar, I would literally turn on my heels, knowing I would have a more fruitful chat if I had turned around and spent t...

  Drum roll please………today unbelievably is Day 88 in the Alcohol free realms of Sue’s life.  Eighty fucking eight which is rather aptly known in Mecca Bingo circles as two fat ladies.  Not that I have ever been to Bingo in my life and two fat ladies is about the epitome of my Bingo knowledge.  I am not a snob I might add, I have simply been raised by an Irish Catholic Mother who ingrained on my brain from an early age that gambling was the devils work and that no woman on earth should pay to sit in a darkened room and watch a man fumble about with his balls for an hour.  I was also misinformed by said mother that everyone in Bingo had yellow, rotting teeth from consuming too much blue wicked playing ‘house’ and an hour inside could easily be confused with attending a gingivitis convention.  In her defence she was raised in a small village in Galway that only had a Church, a Pub, a fish and chip shop and a gift shop selling shamrock shaped paraphernalia...

Giving up Booze 70 days ago, Yes I repeat 70 days ago,  I originally thought it was a guarantee trade-off in return for the following:   Living your best Life and remembering it (Alter ego Irene and her memory loss super power had fucked me over enough times) Getting skinnier, healthier and more glowing (Helloooooo Sassy inner sexy Goddess, can t wait to meet you) Not drinking, therefore not drunk texting, rowing or causing a street fight over you putting the bins out two days early (I love a bit of Community watch but seriously, no sooner had I committed the crime the Bin police were speeding down my driveway like psychotic over acting extras from Mad Max??) Eradication of performing non relevant, age inappropriate moves either dancefloor or acrobatically related (Under influence I have the skill set of a trapeze artist with an itchy arse)   Well let me tell you dear reader that the reality actual...

  Dry January, when you are on an alcohol free mission, is a bloody doddle.  No one has any money to go out, hibernation is a post-holiday must for the majority and this includes the Sun which barely can be arsed making an appearance for more than five hours a day. Its dark at 4pm, bed by 7pm watch a bit of Vera, sleep by 9pm, bored but Sober.  It’s not really that difficult.   February………. well that’s a completely different fuck-a-dory story.    All the January 'dryer outerers',  are now knee deep in discount drinks and clearly relishing in the reverse January mentality, becoming moister than a fucking oyster every hour.   February is hardcore.  Valentines Chocolates and Bottles of Bubbly adorn the TV, the Shops and the Soaps – Sally Webster I must add, clearly has a drink problem and can be seen glugging from an array of shit, chipped wine glasses every episode, whist whining at Tim about his health....... anyway I digress back ...