Even by my exalted standards, this last week was a gargleful affair. I lost the run of myself completely in a deluge of lager beer and stout and whiskey and, yes, even a shot or two of something unpronouncable.
And I may just have found my smile.
It began last week, when I returned from my two weeks away from Setanta Central. The break itself was intended for other things than boozing, so upon my return I had a thirst.
Started last Thursday when I met Kevin Murphy abroad in Neary's for a pint or two to unwind after a tough day plagiarising soap previews. Well, if we didn't end up trekking down to The Bankers (commendable place for a quiet pint) and then The Bank (I disremember what occurred therein) to take our tally up to eight or ten for the evening. Golly.
Friday and work. Met Skehan in the Palace (how many times have I said that exact sentence on Radgery???). I made the error of taking Stella on tap. Sakes. That stuff'll kill ya. Even when I got home at a reasonable hour it didn't stop, Johnny and Pike forcing me to stay up with them and drink and drink some more.
Saturday was the clincher. A classic of a night, as bespoke by both myself and Richie in correspondence on Monday. Mercy me. The contestants: David Maher, Tadhg/Tim, Our Anne, Our Emma, said Dr Roche, Anne's fella Dave and the lovely Martina.
Now those that know me will be aware that I'm no fleet-footed prince of the tiles. The young ladies of Thomas Read's now know it too, as evidenced by my vain attempts to snare some poor young one. Fucked if I can remember most of it though.
On Sunday I felt my heart had stopped on at least seven occasions in work, so I made it home to rest that night. I'd planned the same for Monday but something in me cried alcohol and next thing I knew I was downing pints of stout with Johnny and Ms Michelle Downey in Courtney's.
I think I finally have come to realise that complete dipsomania is not far from me at any point, and I'd like to issue sincere apologies to those I stood up last night. As you can see it had to stop - go easy on me, I'm ever so fragile.
Things I didn't give a shit about this week:
2) House prices.
3) Maintaining public decorum.
4) Big Bother.
5) Going to the press screening of 'Poseidon'.
6) Trying to make the world a better place.
7) Peter Crouch's dancing.
8) Spilled beer. Plenty more where that came from.
Cheese of the week (it's back): Dubliner.
Objective for the week ahead: Laundry.