...and two steps back.

Flushed with Wednesday night's exciting discovery that I can choose not to drink until I'm fucking legless, I went out for a drink with my colleagues Thursday evening. They wanted to meet at some shopping mall in TST. I was early, and discovering that the shopping mall backs onto a bar area called Knutsford Steps, I sat down to wait for them in an Australian bar called Black Stump.

So I had one beer and read my book. And ate a plate of sausage. They were all late so I had another beer. I was three ahead before they even got their orders in. Tasty microbrew. Cold, easy to pour down. I think I had 8 glasses.

However, I did in fact leave not too long after midnight and- no puking, no hangover. Just a sort of sinking feeling and a growing realisation.

Strategy

Last night, after the run, I substituted the first beer for a cold coke. Thereafter, I only half filled my glass with beer each time. I'm as cunning as a fox! By the time A called me, I was still one beat of sobriety behind everyone else. I promised I would leave in 30 minutes and I was gone in 25. Progress.

I rarely get drunk on wine. It just isn't the same. With me, i's all about that forst mouthful of beer. As A says, when it's hot, and you've been working hard, and you feel like you deserve it, it's hard not to just pour it down. And it's so good. Blizzard cold, sharp, and rushing straigh to the bloodstream. Wonderful.

But this is where the evening starts to break down for me. Because the second one tastes almost as good, and I'm a fast drinker, so I'm onto the third before you've caught up. Now the contents of the bottle are doing the thinking for me and I'm happy to let it. What started as a simple pleasure- one cold beer- has now become an urgent desire to just lose it.

Anyway. Progress. I met up with A and rewarded myself with two more beers at the bar.