Drying out

Spending January, as have done for quite a few years now, without the crutch of alcohol to help me through what must be the dreariest month. It's become quite the thing nowadays to do so, apparently. Around a table at the Word offices t'other day, when someone said 'how about a pint' the other three demurred, citing being on the wagon for Jan.

Actually, as this is the first 'two kid' attempt at this, it's remarkable a) how easy it is - somehow easier than previous attempts, probably due to general feeling of extreme tiredness anyway, and b) how, to completely contradict my previous sentence, both Em and I look at each other without fail around 7.30 each evening and one of the other utters the magic words '...I could just murder a glass...'

So. despite the fact there's the best part of a month to go, a case of something mysterious has just been ordered from the lovely people at Laithwaites so that come Feb 1st I'm not scrabbling around the back of the local offie trying to find something nice. And failing.