Oh my god. Not again. Mind whirling. Stomach flying solo. Body bloated, white, beached. Barnacles gripping steadfastly to the forehead. A bumpy sand-duned surf ride of excess. A season easily read on the features of the now vacant. A season now come and gone. Boy, was it fun.
But we’re not going to do it again. Never, ever again. The dry January do-gooders are out in force. It’s time to grow up. Be sensible. Hit the gym. Start to break all those promises.
But that’s not our style.