Schwindlig - Dizzy

‘Tis not only the season for racially provocative sweaters (see 21/12 - Du Hast Den Pulli…), but also to feel horribly dizzy, nauseous, have a splitting headache and discover a big load of mystery bruises acquired somehow the night before. According to the news, a quarter of all alcohol purchased by households in the UK is done around the festive period. I find this an unusually large amount - surely I can‘t be the only one who drinks by myself most nights throughout the year? I can’t be alone, can I? I mean on a grand scale, not the physical lack of drinking partner. Although that said, you drink enough and you gain several new friends - pillows, teddy bears, chocolate oranges. And I’m suddenly aware that list sounds more sexually sinister than the genuine talking-to-inanimate-objects angle I was going for. In truth, (which is clearly never a good way to start an actually truthful statement) for me alcohol has lost a lot of its novelty. It’s precisely the dizziness, nausea, brain-crushing headaches and the multicoloured results of the inevitable contusion I just can’t get excited about. The times I’ve gone out and drank too much I always regret. Due to the immensely shit selection of drinkeries open past midnight in Norwich, any night out with work colleagues (-which must be put in every once in a while purely to shield myself from being branded a ‘loner’ should any spree of rapes or murders occur and the e-fit look anything like me. Well, yeah, now you mention it, he didn’t go out very much, I’d say he was a bit of a loner. I don’t need that. But we’re getting off topic-) will end up somewhere hideous. A couple of weeks back, the night culminated in a festering sleaze-and-cheese pit called Liquid, which managed to successfully extract some deeply cynical feelings I usually keep well under wraps. I announced to everyone how Liquid was the ultimate advert for misanthropy, and how if you ever needed a reason to despise the human race, simply duck in there for twenty minutes. Which of course most of them already had. And seemingly quite enjoyed it. It was all a bit like preaching atheism to gormless punters outside a Sunday carol service. Only slightly less drunken. I don’t so much regret saying that, because jokingly as it may have seemed, I did mean it, it’s just that it’s probably not going to have done my Crimewatch profile any favours when that series of grim crimes occur across the city. Well yeah, now you mention it, he did talk about hating all humans a lot, so yeah, I wouldn’t say he isn’t capable. Gee, thanks.