Friday night's post about stick-thin jazz-pop kittens was the result of my taking a cold drink. Don't rush out of your homes as if you were on fire, howling like a cat up a tree - things are going to be fine. I went to see Giant Drag on thursday and all the requisite jams were kicked out.
Ever since a wild night in East Streatham (circa 2002) wherein I completed something called "the Lewin Run" and paid the price, my body has been systematically saying no to booze. The list of alcoholic beverages I can still drink is getting really short. I reckon I can trust Guinness, gin and wine. Pretty soon I will be down the temperance society with the maiden aunts. PLUS:
Guinness: you will be waiting a while
Gin: mother's ruin
Wine: Q. Are We Not Men/ A. No we are drinking wine
The two day hangover: god's way of telling you IT'S OVER.