There is something about the Summer months that leads me to drink. I am not a big drinker - maybe the odd glass of wine or a beer occasionally. In fact, I have always been rather dull when it comes life's vices. I cannot boast about or even bemoan days and nights of debauchery. All my life I have been cursed with the label " sensible". There is nothing as dull as to be thought " sensible ". I have longed to be a wild child, a rebel, a rock chic. But no, give me a nice glass of Merlot and a lamb shank and, to be honest, I am as happy as Larry.
But, the Summer, and my neighbours , have recently created in me the emergence of something rather more startling. I notice that my wantonness is beginning to follow a pattern. It usually starts with a family barbecue. Somehow the consumption of marinaded chicken leads to the suggestion that we light the woodburner. The lighting of the woodburner results in the opening of red wine. And as the evening ambles on into starry darkness there are more bottles opened until we lose track of time and melt into oneness with the night, the breeze and the crackling warmth of the fire.
The night echoes with the sound of our laughter and a worrying tendency to tell old jokes that get strangely funnier as the evening goes on. I don't yet have the stamina of my gorgeous neighbour C, but I am working on it. And believe me , it may take me some years of diligent practise to get anywhere near her. Not that I am encouraging the evils of drink. How shocking would that be? And remember, I am a sensible person. No, I am merely recording a phenomenon that has started to occur.
Luckily, I have been saved, so far, from dropping into the depths of alcohol poisoning and ruin, by the fact that I find it dreadfully difficult to stay awake past 11pm. I think I must have a gene that kicks in just in time to save me. How unfortunate.....