I thought it would be a good idea to start blogging again, just for my own entertainment really. Although now I’ve sat down to write something I have realised that I have flip all of any interest to say.
July 2009 has been a pretty intense month for me and probably the best month I’ve had in bloody ages. I kind of feel like I rediscovered my lust for life in the second row of the second Blur gig at Hyde Park. Although it can’t just be the Blur gig that had such a profound effect on me; there must be other factors involved. Anyway, ever since the gig on 3rd July I have had one, possibly two nights in and I’ve been going to bed at approx 1am. This is pretty rock n roll when you consider that for ages leading up to then I was going to bed at 10:30pm, watching Family Guy, falling asleep and waking up just as tired (or more tired) than of late. And on the occasion that I did go out I’d be back relatively early. I have no interest in going home and sitting in the flat watching TV anymore (which is a shame cos for my job I could *really* do with watching some telly). Life is for living and I want to go out and live it properly.
Plus, and this is the big one, I haven’t been drinking really since early November 2008, with four exceptions. I had about 5 drinks on my 32nd birthday (woohoo), then I had a couple of red wines at a sitcom recording (when I was stationed behind the bar in the green room), I got thoroughly plastered on free wine at the RTS awards (where I met up with Izzy and proceeded to drink a lot more) and then a couple of bottles of Becks at Caireen’s hen weekend in Norwich (when I ended up driving home at 3am).
Beside the small matter of my ectopic heart beats and tachycardia, the reason I gave up was actually because I genuinely thought I was going to die the day after the RTS awards. I know everybody says this the day after a big night but I genuinely could not move. I couldn’t move my head off the pillow or even change the direction in which I was facing, it was shocking. The awards dinner started at about 8pm and I must have been in bed at 3am. I must have woken up every 10 mins and when I decided to get up and go to the toilet I almost fainted and literally had to crawl back to bed, which I hit with a thud. My survival instinct kicked in and I set my alarm for 10am purely so I could text my boss and tell him I needed to take the day off as holiday (cos I physically wouldn’t be able to drag my sorry arse into work – though it wasn’t my arse that was causing me problems, it was my head). It’s pathetic really but then I hadn’t had a proper drink for quite a few months. The only other time I’ve ever felt so ill was when about 5 of us were off work with food poisoning. That was pretty horrific.
The effect of me not drinking for months only served to make me quite anxious about the whole matter cos I am a bit of a head case. I think I had more or less convinced myself that not only would my acne re-explode but that my heart would really suffer. On Helena’s birthday she had made some (pretty strong) margherita ice cream and after about two spoonfuls I felt quite sick and dizzy, but surely this was all in my stupid head? Granted, my heart doesn’t feel amazing the day after I’ve been drinking but then I also think I need to learn to cope with it and not panic. I think I must have panicked at Helena’s. So the long and short of it is that the day after that second Blur gig, Michelle and I set about going to the Reflex bar in the city for some hot 80s dancing – we got dressed up and everything. Except when we got to the bar (and were given the once over by sniffer dogs and the list lady) we realised that we had made comparatively little effort to everyone else. We got there early to avoid all the hen nights before they reached full flow and so there was room on the light-up dance floor for us to strut our stuff, which we did as soon as the Pet Shop Boys were blasted out. I had two whole coronas (believe it) and managed not to be ill/grow spots/die so it was a resounding success and I was absolutely thrilled. And I haven’t looked back. I am gently weaning myself back but I don’t think I’ll ever reach such epic proportions as in the 90s and early 00s when Boozy Susie was spawned. I’m not sure I’d want to go back there, though it was bloody good fun.
With all of this going out and staying up late has come the loss of half a stone. Half a stone which I didn’t realise I needed to lose. Even if I had wanted to lose it, I would have had no idea how to go about it. Ironically since Blur I have let my fondness for aqua aerobics fall by the wayside, but then hundreds of people do it in the summer so they can get into bikinis, whereas flip all people do it in the dark winters so I’ll just start up again then. I only ever weigh myself at my parents when I have to stay over before a hospital appointment, mainly cos I really couldn’t care less how much I weigh, it means absolutely nothing to me and I’ve never really worried about it. So two weeks ago before my echocardiogram I got on the electronic scales and (because it was before 9am and I was still half asleep), I didn’t really bat an eyelid at what the display was telling me. Then a few days later I realised how baggy my nice blue jeans had become. I had presumed they’d just lost their elasticity but when I got back to N London I hunted down my skinny black jeans (the ones I rescued from home a month earlier but couldn’t get the button within two inches of the button hole) and they fit. I still can’t quite believe it. It’s a revelation. I don’t even care if they don’t suit me; I am just thrilled to fit into a pair of jeans I bought three years ago which I haven’t been able to get into since. I can’t quite understand how it happened. I’ve been in two nights all month and cooked dinner once and other than that I’ve eaten out a lot, too much in fact. Maybe it’s being awake an extra 3.5 hours every day which is burning off the calories.
God this blog is dull. My life has seemed so exciting for the past month and now I have done it a disservice.
July 2009 has been a pretty intense month for me and probably the best month I’ve had in bloody ages. I kind of feel like I rediscovered my lust for life in the second row of the second Blur gig at Hyde Park. Although it can’t just be the Blur gig that had such a profound effect on me; there must be other factors involved. Anyway, ever since the gig on 3rd July I have had one, possibly two nights in and I’ve been going to bed at approx 1am. This is pretty rock n roll when you consider that for ages leading up to then I was going to bed at 10:30pm, watching Family Guy, falling asleep and waking up just as tired (or more tired) than of late. And on the occasion that I did go out I’d be back relatively early. I have no interest in going home and sitting in the flat watching TV anymore (which is a shame cos for my job I could *really* do with watching some telly). Life is for living and I want to go out and live it properly.
Plus, and this is the big one, I haven’t been drinking really since early November 2008, with four exceptions. I had about 5 drinks on my 32nd birthday (woohoo), then I had a couple of red wines at a sitcom recording (when I was stationed behind the bar in the green room), I got thoroughly plastered on free wine at the RTS awards (where I met up with Izzy and proceeded to drink a lot more) and then a couple of bottles of Becks at Caireen’s hen weekend in Norwich (when I ended up driving home at 3am).
Beside the small matter of my ectopic heart beats and tachycardia, the reason I gave up was actually because I genuinely thought I was going to die the day after the RTS awards. I know everybody says this the day after a big night but I genuinely could not move. I couldn’t move my head off the pillow or even change the direction in which I was facing, it was shocking. The awards dinner started at about 8pm and I must have been in bed at 3am. I must have woken up every 10 mins and when I decided to get up and go to the toilet I almost fainted and literally had to crawl back to bed, which I hit with a thud. My survival instinct kicked in and I set my alarm for 10am purely so I could text my boss and tell him I needed to take the day off as holiday (cos I physically wouldn’t be able to drag my sorry arse into work – though it wasn’t my arse that was causing me problems, it was my head). It’s pathetic really but then I hadn’t had a proper drink for quite a few months. The only other time I’ve ever felt so ill was when about 5 of us were off work with food poisoning. That was pretty horrific.
The effect of me not drinking for months only served to make me quite anxious about the whole matter cos I am a bit of a head case. I think I had more or less convinced myself that not only would my acne re-explode but that my heart would really suffer. On Helena’s birthday she had made some (pretty strong) margherita ice cream and after about two spoonfuls I felt quite sick and dizzy, but surely this was all in my stupid head? Granted, my heart doesn’t feel amazing the day after I’ve been drinking but then I also think I need to learn to cope with it and not panic. I think I must have panicked at Helena’s. So the long and short of it is that the day after that second Blur gig, Michelle and I set about going to the Reflex bar in the city for some hot 80s dancing – we got dressed up and everything. Except when we got to the bar (and were given the once over by sniffer dogs and the list lady) we realised that we had made comparatively little effort to everyone else. We got there early to avoid all the hen nights before they reached full flow and so there was room on the light-up dance floor for us to strut our stuff, which we did as soon as the Pet Shop Boys were blasted out. I had two whole coronas (believe it) and managed not to be ill/grow spots/die so it was a resounding success and I was absolutely thrilled. And I haven’t looked back. I am gently weaning myself back but I don’t think I’ll ever reach such epic proportions as in the 90s and early 00s when Boozy Susie was spawned. I’m not sure I’d want to go back there, though it was bloody good fun.
With all of this going out and staying up late has come the loss of half a stone. Half a stone which I didn’t realise I needed to lose. Even if I had wanted to lose it, I would have had no idea how to go about it. Ironically since Blur I have let my fondness for aqua aerobics fall by the wayside, but then hundreds of people do it in the summer so they can get into bikinis, whereas flip all people do it in the dark winters so I’ll just start up again then. I only ever weigh myself at my parents when I have to stay over before a hospital appointment, mainly cos I really couldn’t care less how much I weigh, it means absolutely nothing to me and I’ve never really worried about it. So two weeks ago before my echocardiogram I got on the electronic scales and (because it was before 9am and I was still half asleep), I didn’t really bat an eyelid at what the display was telling me. Then a few days later I realised how baggy my nice blue jeans had become. I had presumed they’d just lost their elasticity but when I got back to N London I hunted down my skinny black jeans (the ones I rescued from home a month earlier but couldn’t get the button within two inches of the button hole) and they fit. I still can’t quite believe it. It’s a revelation. I don’t even care if they don’t suit me; I am just thrilled to fit into a pair of jeans I bought three years ago which I haven’t been able to get into since. I can’t quite understand how it happened. I’ve been in two nights all month and cooked dinner once and other than that I’ve eaten out a lot, too much in fact. Maybe it’s being awake an extra 3.5 hours every day which is burning off the calories.
God this blog is dull. My life has seemed so exciting for the past month and now I have done it a disservice.
