January 17 2005
Hooray! January is finally over. It was unexpected and premature, but January bit the dust in The Calf public house in Clapham at 5.47pm yesterday.
I don't detox. But have been subjected a sympathy detox as friends cast off sparkly partywear, robe themselves in hair shirts, and shun various evils.
Detoxing is great, of course, if you end up with glowing skin, stacks of energy, and legs like the vanished banisters in a country house hotel.
However.
Detoxing is NOT great if you walk around with a face like a smacked bottom, forlornly digging into tupperware vats of brown rice, glaring at huge bottles of water, and spitefully poking at resolutely porridgy flesh.
It became clear that something radical had to be done to dispel the intoxicating cloud of despair invoked by the ridiculous pressures of January. So it was cancelled.
It is quite wondrous to witness the radical, almost miraculous transformation that a simple glass of white wine can bring to the distraught face of a January detoxer.
I don't detox. But have been subjected a sympathy detox as friends cast off sparkly partywear, robe themselves in hair shirts, and shun various evils.
Detoxing is great, of course, if you end up with glowing skin, stacks of energy, and legs like the vanished banisters in a country house hotel.
However.
Detoxing is NOT great if you walk around with a face like a smacked bottom, forlornly digging into tupperware vats of brown rice, glaring at huge bottles of water, and spitefully poking at resolutely porridgy flesh.
It became clear that something radical had to be done to dispel the intoxicating cloud of despair invoked by the ridiculous pressures of January. So it was cancelled.
It is quite wondrous to witness the radical, almost miraculous transformation that a simple glass of white wine can bring to the distraught face of a January detoxer.
posted by Elizabeth at 5:17 PM
1 Comments:
"Detoxing is NOT great if you walk around with a face like a smacked bottom, forlornly digging into tupperware vats of brown rice, glaring at huge bottles of water, and spitefully poking at resolutely porridgy flesh.".... You must become a comedy writer asap. Mary at Knock Knock.
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