I have a problem with the way I drink.
The problem is, that no matter what I drink, I drink it very, very quickly. I neck my drinks. It could be water, orange juice or beer – it really doesn’t matter. If a drink is put in front of me, I will gulp it down as quickly as possible. Cartons of Tropicana last about an hour in my house. And I’m talking the two litre ones.
When I was a student I would always be the first to finish my pint. I’d be the first to finish my second pint, and my third – and only then would it finally catch up with me. I’d need to slow down to avoid getting arseholed through sheer pace of consumption. And usually this poses no real problem. I can drink beer quickly without feeling rough the next dat. The same with cider, and white wine and rose. But RED WINE? Jesus. Christ.
This truly is my kryptonite, which is a real shame as it’s pretty bloody nice. I like red wine, but I am an oaf. I drink it like I drink all my other drinks. At speed. And when I drink red wine at speed I wake up the next morning feeling like a train has run over my face. I’m even pastier than usual. Even the most simple of tasks seems to be a challenge akin to climbing Everest.
And yet winter is nearly here. The nights are getting colder. The urge to drink red wine will increase. And I know I’ll be unable to resist it’s murky charms. Will I learn to drink at a respectable pace? To afford red wine the time it deserves? Of course not. I shall be bollocksed inside ten minutes and vomiting inside twenty. And there’s nothing I can do. It’s a part of me, and there’s no escape.