Every day it’s too hot to go outside and the garden has faded into the colours of a bark painting. Thirty-seven degrees at the moment.

Inside it’s like we live in the wrong house. The dishes are done, things have been put away. It’s not right. It’s not us, but we’ve had to tidy up because Nina breaks everything she can get her paws on.

She can now jump onto the kitchen bench (broken plates, vases knocked over), the bathroom shelf (chewed up and/or kidnapped TinTin figurines), and last night she opened the sliding door to the sunroom where she was ‘locked in’ and came upstairs to play mad bastard with us all night long.

It’s almost like she’s a kitten. We haven’t had a kitten for 22 years.

Fortunately the last ones we had clawed and ruined all our furniture and we’re so poor we’ve kept it. So while Nina isn’t allowed to break things she is allowed to wreck them, but only if they’re already ruined. So far she doesn’t seem to understand these instructions, even though I’ve tried shouting them at her.

To make matters worse I’m practising the idea of not drinking too much. Radical and cranky.

For a month of Mondays I’ve gone without alcohol. Needless to say I tell this to anyone who’ll listen – Robinson’s tuned out already – only to be told by one friend they went five days without a drink last week, or an eleven day stretch for other friends.

I seem to have stumbled inadequately into a whole movement. (Or a roomful of liars.)

The first Monday I just didn’t drink. I chewed my way through dinner with a sort of Tony Abbott death grin. I couldn’t take my eyes off Robinson’s pale straw Sauvignon Blanc.

Somehow Google heard what I was doing (insert astonishment here) and I started getting ads for alcohol free gin. There’s no need to tell me this is a stupid and expensive idea. I know that. But I also know that’s what Capitalism is based on, and so I was in.

The next Monday I enjoyed a pre-dinner mocktail where I pretended I could identify all the botanicals listed on the gin bottle, even though I couldn’t. Then I washed down my steak with some Beck’s Blue non-alcoholic beer.

Gluten free water, anyone?

I don’t know why I have to pretend to myself I’m drinking alcohol. I should just drink Kombucha which is a) fermented and b) the nicest drink I’ve ever had in my life. And compared to alcohol free gin it’s cheap.

But addiction is a lonely hunter and you’ve got to kill that beast (actually I’m only looking to wound it) with whatever you’ve got in your armoury.

What was that old song? Monday, Monday – can’t trust that day. Every other day of the week is fine. 

To be honest, I’m starting to enjoy Mondays. I still prefer Tuesdays and the rest of the blur.

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