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Dryathlon - just one weekend to go

I know I am getting ahead of myself and the weekends are no more difficult than the weeks but, having already come this far, I think I can start relaxing a little. It is not yet time to begin thinking about what the first wine will be on February 1st (as if I haven't already been there!) and there have been a few tricky moments recently - such as last Friday when, after a late sandwich for lunch, no dinner had been put together so the children ended up with a rather odd combination of Italian-nuanced chicken with chow mein which, frankly, held little appeal for me. Ordinarily I would have headed for the nearest block of parmesan and a bottle of Nebbiolo of some description but this was not an option so I patiently waited until it was too late to give in before confessing my desires. I discovered I was not alone! At least, with teeth brushed, turning back was sufficiently difficult and, I am pleased to report, we did not succumb.

Whilst many people are still holding onto their pennies in the belief that I will fail to make it to the end (a week on Friday! The light is now becoming visible), others seem to hold the opposite view: that I have said I will do this so, of course, I will. I suppose they are right (and, certainly, that remains the intention) but that doesn't make it any easier. It is a subject that, because some find it comical, is often raised which makes it no less frustrating. Actually, that is probably a better word. This is not proving remotely difficult but frustrating, annoying, tedious? Yes.

On top of all this, a couple of social engagements. Fridays are now out as we have to leave for London on Saturday mornings whilst it is still dark but on Saturday we, somewhat tired after our early morning, went out for an evening of sitting stunned and sober whilst everyone else was jolly and oiled with as much (or as little) wine as they wanted. Sunday lunch was, perhaps, worse as I had made a venison pot roast which, frankly, screamed out for a Chateauneuf-du-Pape circa 2000-2004. The lunch guests all got a glass or two, of course. How cruel is January?

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