Knowing from yesterday's adventures with the Evening sub Standard and a thick marker pen that there's fuck all on telly tonight (tries not to point out that all teevee is shite, as I must acclimatise myself to it before I get to my parents' house; nnnnnnggggggggggg.....), I decided to get my kicks elsewhere. Observant readers will know from my constant screeching and whining on the subject that I gave up alcohol five weeks ago, and that I took three hours to drink one glass of red wine when I was in Paris, as the alc tolerance had dropped to the point that a sip made me come over all Soap Operatic - so I decided to see if stuffing myself with an entire box worth of Tesco Liqueur Choccies could substitute itself as next year's cheap thrill ... or if my worst fears were realised, and I actually do have to go out and get me a sex life instead.
Downed the box in 2.5 minutes. Hypothesis unproven. Not remotely pissed, not even a smidgeon dizzy or energised, and believe me, I have a powerful imagination. This afternoon, for instance, I imagined I was going cold turkey from the cat tranquilisers I'd only imagined taking yesterday, nearly causing a panic attack and cold sweats.
Till I realised it was all a side-effect of boredom, and went out to buy cosmetic products instead like any normal woman does.
Conclusion of experiment: food, if deployed in sufficient concentrations of salt, fat and sugar, can fulfil many of the same self-loathing functions as alcohol; a recent day's menu:
Half a pack of choccie Hob Nobs
Six coffees (instant, bleurgh)
Two super sized bags of pan-fried vegetable crisps
Multi pack of choccie buttons
Pack of four chocolate cream eclairs
Two cream scones with jam
Tell me the nutritional value of that.
Cracker Joke Survey 6:
Q. What do you call a parrot in the rain with an umbrella?
A. Polly Unsaturated.
(Sainsbury - weirdly inventive)