December 24th: Okay, so the last 350 something days didn’t really go according to plan. But new year, new resolutions, new me. I’ve got this. All I have to do is get through the next week of food and drink based Grecian levels of debauchery and then it’s time for a fresh start.
December 25th: I think I may have water-boarder myself with food.
December 26th: The food in this house seems to be hydra-based, every time I eat something two more things spring up to take it’s place. I’m scared.
December 27th: All of the turkey and ham is gone, but just when I thought I had defeated the food monster, I noticed the boxes of Quality Street and Roses under the tree. Have I died? Is this the Gluttony level of Hell?
December 28th: fhejbefvkWHEGV;IOHJPGKI[IR-93UTGFIHI129iu-9guij-rhgjpiojg
December 29th: I was lost. I was a goner. There was no hope for me. But then, from amid the din, came a question that pulled me from my serotonin carbohydrate coma…
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”
After hiring a Sherpa to help me get upstairs, I open the closet to see what I should wear for what is the one night of the year when everyone – be they single or happily coupled – is entitled to a kiss at midnight. This is one of the few occasions when everyone should look their best. But after eating enough food in the last few days to set up my own fertilizing plant, nothing looks good on me. Nothing. Not even my Christmas clothes that fit me four days ago. Tomorrow I work out a little bit to get back down to a shape that isn’t quite so … spherical.
December 30th: The good intentions were ruined from the get-go when I noticed that the sausages and rashers and white pudding was going to go off tomorrow. Well, the day after tomorrow. Well… soon. But it’s all gone now, so that’s one less issue to deal with. No point in going to the gym today since I’m so full, so it’d be easier to just buy new clothes for the time being. There’s bound to be something in the sales…
(Six hours later)
… Not to self – never go to the sales again. Everything was either XS or XXXL. Everything was either too flashy to allow direct eye contact or too drab to be described properly by the English language. But I think I did lose some weight by forcing myself through the throbbing sea of purebred, focused sales shoppers – the kind of shoppers with a nose for bargains they way some pigs can smell truffles. But to me that bargain still looks like a shit covered mushroom, so you can have it.
December 31st: This is the day. You sleep late and eat very little so you can stay awake longer and get drunk quicker. Try on the Christmas clothes again, and those two days not eating food like a Hungry Hungry Hippo has helped me squeeze back into them. There are going to be a lot of photos taken tonight at some crazy house-party or night-club, so you have to look your best.
One quick drink before I head out on the town. Tonight is going to be NUTS. But then that’s it. Oh, that drink is empty already. One more quick drink. Tonight is the last night of craziness, but then it’s 2013 and I am going to be good. No, better than that, I am going to be my best. I am going to knuckle down and get my life in order and get a girlfriend and get abs and it’s going to be… how is this drink empty already? For fuck’s sake. Okay, one more. Make it a bigger measure so it doesn’t empty so quic- it’s gone. Already? Sheesh. Sometimes I think I might have an alcohol problem… in that there’s not enough of it! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m soooo funny. I should write that down. I stand up to look for a pen to write that down, and all those whiskey’s swoosh right to my head, and I have to sit back down. Maybe just put my head back for a minute, take a little disco nap to rid myself of this alcohol… and right before I pass out, I realise I forgot to make any plans tonight, and if I had actually gone out that door, I wouldn’t have known where I was going…
January 1st: Burrah….. Chenk….. Zembella….. Those half-drunken words half-shouted into a pillow when someone is telling you that it’s after 2pm and you’ve been asleep for all of 2013 so far. Check the phone, some missed calls at 12.01am, an epic amount of texts ranging from 12.09 to 2.15am (I love that time when then networks get so clogged with “BAPPY NEY WEAR!” texts that none of them actually send until hours later), some voice mails containing indecipherible screaming over Auld Lang Syne. Everyone seemed to have a great night, but I bet they’re all hungover to bits today. I’ve got a headstart on the year, and it’s going to be great. But… wait. What’s that smell? A fry-up. Sweet JEEEESUS. Right, I’ll eat that today, spend the rest of it writing out my plan for getting fit and getting a girlfriend and getting a life, starting tomorrow. TOMORROW is THE DAY. You hear me, 2013? Come at me, bro!
But for right now… nom nom nom…
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