Zigzagging, down the hill from the Village Pub.
A line of Sunday afternoon traffic passes in the opposite direction. They are holidaymakers, who have to go home. But I do not – I can stay here!!! “Yah boo!” I shout, in my head, so that nobody stops their car and gets out and hits me.
I always have mixed feelings about drinking at lunchtime – even on a Sunday. On one hand, I do not like the way that lunchtime drinking uses up the entire day. On the other hand, it involves drinking, and lunchtime, two of my favourite things. I had tucked into the free bar sandwiches with gusto, until they had hardened off beyond reasonable human consumption.
My other problem is that I am always able to haul myself away from the pub after a few drinks in the evening, as they close it. Nowadays, pubs are able to stay open all afternoon, so there is not this safety net available for the lunchtime drunk. Gordon Brown should investigate this and perhaps take action. It will surely make him more popular than he is now.
Eddie left early and morosely, having agreed to attend a local event in the afternoon. Len the Fish remained until his dogg had had his fill of sandwiches; Short Tony stayed for just another half as I lumbered from the double-doors.
I have enjoyed my week of doing nothing in particular except eating and drinking and not looking at the PC screen. I resolve not to go to sleep as I arrive back at the cottage – it would waste the rest of this sunny day. Ten minutes later, Mrs Short Tony pops round. I accept her invitation and head next door with a bottle of wine.
The sun is shining and I am very relaxed and chilled out. It makes for rubbish comedy, but life is good.