Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« Suck cessUnbirthday »

Half done

  Wed 6th February 2019

All day and all night, there is a large self-destruct button in front of me, with "push me" printed on it.

Round midnight, I send Wendy a drunken lascivious text. As usual, scrabbling apologies in the morning. She doesn't like it, and tells me so, that it's alienating her. Kitty rang, saying, amongst other things, that Wendy doesn't want anything to do with me for at least the time being.

It would help everyone I know, but especially Wendy and Kitty, if I could drink less. To this end -- and I know it's not much of an achievement to most people -- this is my ninth day off the booze, which is the longest I've avoided the pop in over fifteen years.

I divide the day up into two-hour segments, since facing a full day without a drink is an ambition too remote. All I have to do, when I get up, is to make it through till 10am. I have to start it that early, as I've had many a drink before 10am.

The next milestone is midday, and so on. The hardest hurdles are the 4pm and 6pm ones -- that's when the yen comes on the strongest. Once the 8pm one is reached, I know, even with my reflex towards instant gratification, that it would be a shame to throw all the attainments of the day down a pint glass -- for example, by sending unwelcome sexualised texts to a friend.

The following morning, I give myself a silver star and add it to my star chart. I like watching it develop into a constellation. I am being a good boy; my inner teacher is giving me a reward. I earned my first green star yesterday, the badge of a complete week. Green for go.

I told Kitty all this last night. Her justified scepticism about whether this will make any difference in the long run is an incentive. Avoiding behaving like a lecherous man towards someone with whom I'd like to recover our former closeness, is a far greater one.


I go raving with someone I know slightly. Outside the club, we wait to be searched. It's a perfunctory show of "zero" tolerance, but they find something inadequately buried amongst his tobacco. I sail through, my refreshments safe in an area that is rarely touched by anyone other than myself.

He's led off to a table removed from the queues. Unwanted memories of the London rave scene in the early 90s reappear, of people being taken off to closed rooms and strip-searched, before the bouncers intimidate clubbers into buying what they've found; but things seem softer nowadays: the stupefacient is confiscated and he's told to go home. He returns in different clothes and gets in.

As often happens, I am adopted by younger people. A twenty-five-year-old man asks if I can budge up on the sofa and asks me how old I am. "Wow! Well, I hope I'm doing this like you in thirty years' time." At the end of our chat, he gives me a bomb of mdma "just in case you need a lift later." "I'm really sorry," I say, "I haven't got anything to give you in return." "No, no, I wasn't..." I feel awkward, regretting turning his simple generoity into a transaction, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Anyway...you could come and dance with us if you like." I'm willingly led, by the hand, into the thick of it.

Walking home, me and Mike attempt a bit of banter, but it misfires, so he starts telling me about some caves under the city centre that he has explored. He's more comfortable when he's telling me things. I get into bed, sex in my veins.


On the London to Bristol train last week, two women have finished the wine and are now on the G&Ts.

"So I said to Mark, 'you know it's my birthday soon? Well, how about you pay for a boob job?'" "'Alright', he said."

"'How much can I have then?'" "'You can have two grand'." "Well no, because it costs about four." "'Well, you could have one done'."

6 comments

Comment from: monkey man [Visitor]

Hoping you’ll tell em all to fack Orff & get together with the bird with one magnificent boob.

Wed 6th February 2019 @ 21:27 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

Don’t know – I’ve had enough one-sided attractions.

Wed 6th February 2019 @ 22:28 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Eryl [Visitor]

Nine days off the booze is brilliant, I know a number of people who couldn’t manage nine minutes. Even though we’ve never met I’m proud of you. Wendy and Kitty will soon be too, I’ve no doubt.

Aren’t young people delightful?

Wed 6th February 2019 @ 23:25 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Thanks Eryl. I hesitate to complain about something that will sound like a trivial matter to most people, but it’s not easy. I think about, and am drawn towards drinking, constantly during the day.

I don’t blame the drinking for my behaviour – no-one else sent that text the other night – but it will help me if I can avoid any encouragement towards the disinhibited, sexualised selfishness that my drinking can provoke.

And yes – I don’t quite know what is making me look in need of an arm round my shoulders when I go raving, but I love being treated like that.

Wed 6th February 2019 @ 23:44 Reply to this comment
Comment from: isabelle [Visitor]

Forty two days so far for me. It gets better. x

Sat 9th February 2019 @ 16:11 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Well done you, that’s really admirable isabelle. I take my hat off to you. It’s day 12 for me and the boredom is the problem. I miss the way that alcohol changes the day.

Sat 9th February 2019 @ 21:49 Reply to this comment


Form is loading...

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 55 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

  XML Feeds

CMS software
 

©2019 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog template by Asevo | Bootstrap back-end