We’ve all got that one annoying mate who decides when January comes around that a month off the sauce is somehow going to cleanse their souls and turn them into a health goddess. I get it, I really do. We all overdo it on the pigs in blankets over Christmas and come out the other side of December with slightly more padding than we intended to. We all chug 14 bottles of wine a day in the name of everything that’s festive. We all feel rotten as fuck after spending £3,529 on a G&T down the local NYE party and we most defo all feel the pain of the marathon wait for January pay day. But if you think that 30 days on the wagon – and on your high moral horse – is going to cleanse you of those xmas toxins you are fuckin barmy. Continue reading “fuck dry january”
So with a few totally minor and acceptable relapses (a rum+ginger beer and a glass or two of vino), I’ve almost reached the end of Dry January.
You might remember just how grotty I was feeling just after Christmas, following my December diet of chocolate, chocolate coins and chocolate cake washed down with any alcoholic beverage in sight. The good news is, I have changed my ways, and have actually been overheard declining offers of chocolatey snacks in favour of healthy salads and easy peel clementines. Continue reading “what i learned from two weeks at the gym”
The biggest myth about life in your 20s is that you’re mature enough to go for ‘casual drinks’. These fabled outings see us all end up on our arses at 5am, wondering just how we ended up quite so wankered. Casual drinks always seem to be followed by some life re-evaluation, and the vow to not break the ‘three drink rule’ next time (you can do it baby).