In the Saturday Times I read an article that made me feel smug. I then read the article underneath it that made me feel ashamed. The latter was the story of my youth. My hobby, looking back, was alcohol. Granted I imbibed in some culturally wonderful places or art/architectural/social importance but nevertheless. I think much of my twenties and thirties were spent in a permanent state of inebriation, a bit like the drunken family on Harry Enfield & Chums. The weekend would start and finish with a drink. I credit my still reasonably youthful appearance on the fact that I am fact pickled and the aging process stopped aged 30 ish. You could say that once my affair with alcohol waned, post children, that I began to realise that I had bugger all in common with Mr X. Fast forward a few years and I am now waiting for the nisi to become absolut ( legal parlance not the vodka .) However post children the consumption of alcohol takes on a different slant. It really is a race to the vino on a night. A slug of lemon tea really doesn't give you the much needed hit you are after post a hard day's work and navigating a teenage or toddler land mine. But these days I appreciate quality rather than quantity and the bottle bank trips are much less embarrassing.