And So That Was Christmas…

I hope you had fun? I did, and according to my chin; maybe a little too much fun. Let’s just say – if Carlsbergs made diets…I probably drank it.

You see, one of the downfalls of having an elastic face – despite the obvious dating constraints – is that yes, whilst I can fashion my head into a convincing square shape, I also retain every morsel of drink and food that passes my lips, straight into the depths of my chin. Like a Pelican. An irritating, mouthy, cider swigging Pelican.  Think, Tracey Emin at a very specifically themed fancy dress party…

Got that?


Now think of Tandem Paragliding, with Lembit Opik…naked; and he’s behind.

You’re welcome.

Anyway, so when it hit midnight last night, and I found myself tapping at the door of the long since closed local pub, asking them what we could get for £16.43 – specifically – only to emerge 5 minutes later with what at the time felt like a decadent picnic hamper. Although, in hindsight it was more of a generic Friday night in for a 12 year old – but with less drugs than Skins would have us believe they’re snorting/ramming up each other’s arses these days.  So as I glanced down, grinning at our armfuls of miniature cheap wines in various shades of health defying urine, bottles of cider and 2 wham bars, I realised it’s time for the inevitable short-lived January detox.

This consists of my strict 5 day detox routine of warm water, lemons, tuna and grapefruit; money permitting. From the offset you’ll notice that one key ingredient is imperative to the success of the detox. I’m very firm that I must not be exposed to any joy in life whatsoever at this stage. None at all. Much like how I imagine it would feel to be Stephen Hendry’s wife. Smiles and joviality being strictly prohibited and being forced to watch endless frames of snooker whilst repeatedly shining his balls with my special white glove…

This then leads me nicely into my strict 2 day weekend re-tox. It’s a wonderful system where I then welcome every beautiful chemically enhanced and previously banished toxin back into the boundaries of my body. If my body were a Shakespearian play, Juliet would be my liver, and cider my Romeo.  ‘For never was there a tale of more woe, than this of Karen, and her ability to say No.’

It’s easier for me to liken it to that, than the Comedy of Errors that it truly is.

It always appears to me, as a pretty thankless task; a means of keeping the wolf from the door so to speak. Or the wrist from the drip. Or the bed from the winch – or whatever pointless metaphor you want to insert here about my inevitable slow death. Basically, if I pretend to be a semi functioning human being during the week; then I have earned the right to be back at my George Best by the weekend.

And that, for me – well that’ll do pig. That’ll do.

I did have a point to writing this, but I’ve strayed tremendously far away from it – like the secret love child of the Never Ending Story and Homeward Bound.

Anyway, I wanted to write about my new year’s resolution being ‘to get a hobby’ – because I can’t find one I like. And if I do find one I like – I find something wrong with it. I’m a hobby based commitment-phobe. After working nights for some time now, I’d forgotten what it was like to have evenings off – so when the Christmas holidays came it was actually like all my Christmases’ had come at once. (I’ve never had the opportunity to use that sentence before – and I don’t think I’ll use it again, it didn’t feel right.) However, working nights seem to have institutionalised me somewhat and I have completely forgotten what I used to like ‘doing’ – so I just went out and drank a lot; which is no bad thing. But I’m sure there was a time when I liked things that weren’t irrelevant comments facebook and I still had the ability to express my delight without using a cartoon thumb. I could use words – and sometimes, even facial expressions.

So if you have any ideas – let me know. But please don’t suggest walking or jogging or running or any of that shit, because for one – none of those things are hobbies; they are transportation. Essential transportation methods – each useful in their own special scenarios. And two – I’ve already told you I have a stretchy face, and chances are that the sweat I thought was dripping down my face when I was out jogging is actually just a massive flap of skin. Or my eyebrow. God knows – but I don’t wanna risk it.

Like I say, if you have any input then let me know! Oh, but they have to be free. I like free.




P.S…please help, so that I can stop googling Mara Wilson. I hate her. But I can’t stop looking at her.



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