But I gritted my teeth and kept the lid on the bottle. NEARLY TWO weeks into a two-month dry spell and it's been a breeze.
I'm loving bounding out of bed and attacking the day and it certainly makes it easier to haul my carcass out on 15km runs whenI haven't got a belly full.
We're not Feb Fasting, exactly. The Irishman and I have traditionally forsworn alcohol in February to account for all the sins of the Christmas break and I'm giving it a rest for two months as I try to get myself in some sort of shape for the Paris marathon.
It's meant saying no to all sorts of champagnes and wines but that's okay. They'll be there in April.
But by crikey I came close to giving up the whole operation in a spectacular fashion when computers failed me, not once but twice, as I tried to get this column in on time from various business centres around the country.
Watching your work vanish at 1am and knowing there's nothing you can do about it made the mini bar look very tempting. But I gritted my teeth and bit back the sort of language unbecoming to a convent girl and kept the lid on the bottle. I have passed my first real test of self control with flying colours.
