Oft accused by folks who do not like what I write of being an alcoholic, the sad truth is that these days my poison of choice is ginger beer and I drink almost nothing. When in Greece I might have an ouzo at the end of a hard day, here in the UK I drink almost nothing.
The Mrs and I used to polish off a bottle of wine in a couple of days. There is a bottle standing by the fridge whach was opened more than a week ago and still has a glass in it. And most of that was the Mrs. The truth is that - away from ouzo with its strong aniseed taste - I really just do not like the taste of alcohol very much and I delight in not having had a hangover for absolutely ages, even after my Christmas party back in November.
And thus on my birthday last week I had just one unit of alcohol. Right at the end of the day the Mrs opened a bottle of Christmas Pudding vodka - a Christmas gift - and we had a small glass each. It does not taste of alcohol but I would not urge you all to tush out and buy a bottle.
I think that the last time I celebrated my birthday with less than lots of units was when I was fifteen, thirty four years ago. It is not a conscious attempt to be virtuous in any way just that I do not enjoy booze or fags any more.
Perhaps as punishment from a God with a sense of humour my new found ways of purity, now see me laid low with a heavy cold and feeling rotten. Maybe I should have forced myself to drink more to ward off the evil spirits of illness.