Six days, it's a long time off the booze. For me, as I say.
Friday nights are hard to avoid. I began with the best of intentions - meet Greaney for a pint, then head home for one or two bottles. Max.
Instead, I got destroyed. The Corner Stone is a dangerous place, I don't think I've ever left remembering my own name, with last night no exception.
Cocktails. Check. Shots. Check. Beer. Check. Taxi. Check. Sick? Fucked!
Today I've been a mess, with the distraction of the football and my own throbbing head. At least I'm off now for a few days, home to Limerick for some inactivity...