The book launch is approximately three weeks away, and none of my friends will volunteer for the job of stopping me drinking more than two glasses of champagne. They’ve volunteered to help pour the champers, to deal with the money side of book signing, help me find a stunning dress, sing, pick me up if I fall down, give a speech etc. But when I mention this other job, they smile, slyly, I might add.
Perhaps I should be able to monitor my alcohol limit myself, and yes, under normal circumstances I might be able to. But when you get excited, or at least when I get excited, there is a special area of the brain that obviously gets switched off. Also, there is the whole ‘top-up’ issue. If the glass is constantly getting re-filled before you’ve got to the bottom, then how do you know how much you’ve drunk?
And I’m really obsessed with the two glass limit, especially after the last New Year’s Eve party, where I decided, after many glasses of gin that it was my duty, as a writer, to consume absinthe at least once in my life.
Not a good idea. I thought it would open up other dimensions of creativity for me. It didn’t. The following day my bones felt like they were made of the same metal they use for anchors, my insides were wildly swimming jellyfish and my brain simply fled the scene of the crime until later that evening.
So, I vow, here and now, most sincerely, that come 5 June I will have no more than two glasses of bubbles, heaven help me, even if my friends won’t.