Month: January 2013

Another new year heralds another attempt at the WordPress ‘postaweek’ yearly blogging marathon. Attempted (and almost achieved) in 2011, it is only fair I give it another bash in 2013. And this isn’t new year, new me-type stuff talking, oh no. It’s going to happen. Some will be text-based, others will be of the photo variety, but it is going to happen. Definitely. I will not need to talk myself into doing it. At all. Ever.

The same goes for dryathlon, which I’m also attempting. Sorry, completing.

To the uninitiated, dryathlon is a daft idea whereby participants refuse to drink alcohol for an entire month. No beer, no wine, no spirits and definitely no petrol, if you’re that way inclined. An entire month of tea, orange juice, tea, coke, flavoured water and tea.

On the face of it, this doesn’t sound too difficult. I’m not a heavy drinker. I can count the number of times I’ve got life-threateningly pissed on three fingers:

1) 1998. The Melbourne Arms, Northampton. My 18th birthday and my first taste of tequila. It ended with me falling into the cooker, eventually making it to bed and then covering my entire pillow in vomit. Which I slept in all night.

2) 2001. Tenerife. Running away from a prostitute, I tripped over a low hung chain and smashed out a couple of teeth. I’ll let you piece together that evening. It wasn’t a great holiday.

3) 2011. Brno, Czech Republic. My stag do. As is customary, the only time I saw my best man was when he was handing me drinks. Unfortunately, the only drink he appeared capable of buying was plum brandy. Plum brandy tastes like diesel. A lot of it makes you very drunk. Too much of it destroys your brain and makes you slightly more stupid than you were before, once you’ve sobered up. Plum brandy made me fall off the stage on which I was dancing like a mentally-challenged Mick Jagger and finish up in a gurgling, incoherent heap between the legs of a couple previously enjoying a romantic night out. How I made it back to the hotel alive on my own is a complete mystery.

So, been there, done that.

I do like a drink, though, and haven’t gone a month without drinking before. In truth, I don’t think I’ve gone a week without consuming an alcoholic drink my entire adult life.

More worryingly, a quick scan through my Instagram library makes it quite clear that I mainly take photos of beer bottles. Some rudimentary sums lead me to believe that quitting drink will cut my photo output by 80%. For some, this will be a relief, but it’s clear I’ll need to start seeking inspiration elsewhere.

So, the result of this experiment will be either interesting or incredibly dull. Whatever it is, I’ll post an update later this month.