A Remarkable Exhibition of Slightly-wined Brainwork

Our first night on holiday and I was woken from my deep, Côtes du Rhône-fuelled sleep with a start. Bubba was screaming and my wife was shaking me. "Wake up," she hissed, "help me turn on a light." The room was completely dark, I couldn't see a thing, not the bed posts, not the dark outline of the wardrobe, not even my own hand. Bubba had probably lost her dummy (soother), woken to find she couldn't see anything and totally freaked out. I understand. I'd hate to lose my dummy on a dark night.

My wife was trying to turn on her bedside lamp and (apparently) failing miserably. I reached to find mine, sending books and cash to the floor and narrowly avoiding knocking over a glass of water. I took a sip to restore my equanimity and then focused my attention on the light. Damn that Côtes du Rhône, I thought, as my keys crashed down the back of the table.

A man of settled habits, this kind of nighttime scenario stresses me out no end. I ran my hand down the wire, fumbling in vain for the light switch. Must be one of those "slide-block" switches, I thought, finding the bulb and sliding my hand downwards. Nothing. Damn those modern light-makers.

My wife had given up and was now trying to calm Bubba down from across the room. I still couldn't see anything. A thought came to me, if only I could retrieve my phone from our bag it would provide enough light to find the light switch.

In a remarkable exhibition of slightly-wined brainwork I planned the operation. Walk slowly forward until reaching the door (main light switch not an option as it would further wake the baby). Shuffle to the left until reaching the wardrobe. Inch round the wardrobe until positioned directly in front of its centre. Take a few steps back until reaching our bags.

I was just in the process of inching round the wardrobe when the light came on. My wife had resumed her search and found the light switch.

"Thanks for helping," she snapped^*, as I stood by the wardrobe stark-naked and blinking like a rabbit in headlights. I said nothing, rescued my keys and got back into bed. A man always knows when his efforts are unappreciated. Ultimately the problem with rural France is that there is no light pollution. On the upside, there is Côtes du Rhône.

^{* When I mentioned this in the morning after she didn't remember snapping at me. But if you read about the time she effectively accused me of wearing slippers in bed this will not surprise you!}

New Year's Resolutions of Indulgence

I was going to title this piece New Year's Non-Resolutions, but that little voice at the back of my head spoke up with remarkable awareness and incisive poignancy, pointing out that saying "I'm not going to give up coffee" is not a non-resolution, just a resolution. Thinking about it, it may have been that little voice at the tip of my left little toe, but these little voices all sound alike.

I suppose I could have provided a single non-resolution of "I don't know", or just "blah blah", and that would probably count as a non-resolution. But the aforementioned little voice would undoubtedly called me a coward, or worse, a ditherer, or even worse, a gimp-grandchild.

I did suggest to my wife that I could eat a Cadbury's Creme Egg every day until Easter, in celebration of Easter, but she vetoed the idea. So instead, these are my resolutions.

1) Don't give up coffee. Mind you, I don't intend to drink more coffee, or less coffee. This is just a reaction to the idea that I could give up coffee, which would be the sort of extreme asceticism that I am not prepared to be a part of, not even for Lent. Not that I partake of Lent, each year I give up Lent for Lent. I do intend to enjoy my coffee more fully, so in a way that is a sort of sub-resolution. I'm not, of course, speaking of that disgusting abomination known as instant coffee. I'm perpetually in a state of denial regarding instant coffee, preferring to pretend it doesn't exist rather than face such a gross insult to the real thing. I'm speaking of the real deal, freshly ground (yep, of course I grind my own beans) aromatic wonders of divine proportions, beautiful rooty experiences that blow your mind, reduce your risk of alzheimer's and blow your senses into a caffeinated oblivion.

2) Don't give up wine. Similarly, I don't intend to drink more wine, that would be irresponsible, and we all know that alcohol should be drunk responsibly. But I would like to drink more Rioja, and less scanky make-you-flinch Cabernet Sauvignons that I pick up because they are on offer. Some people don't like Rioja, professing a partiality to "old world" wines (by which they mean French or Italian) or "new world" wines (by which they mean powerful Australian Shirazes). Lunatics. Everyone knows that Rioja is the wine of kings.

3) Don't give up beer. As above, I think my beer intake is just about right, somewhere close to moderation. My issue with beer is that there is too much choice, and I like trying new beers so much that I often forfeit the chance to knock back an old love in favour if trying something new. But I could easily write you a list of my top 20 beers, all of which I love, cherish and have given a permanent place in my heart. So this year I would like to enjoy more of my top 20, and pay less attention to trying new beers.

Gosh, now I just have to see these resolutions through.