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Life is still incredibly difficult out there, and the boon about working from home is that the sun is always over the yard arm
Lately, my refrigerator always contains an ice-cold bottle of vodka and at least two bottles of rosé. It is still summer, after all. Summer in semi-lockdown; that stage where the doors are open and we’re ostensibly free to leave, but outdoors is strange, so it’s easier to have a large glass of something nice on the sofa. There are no QR codes to scan, and no queuing for the bar in the same stiff manner with which one might line up to collect a hire car. Who knew that one day I’d crave the scrum and jostle of getting in a round in a heaving pub? Or miss the quaint Britishness of ferrying half-spilt drinks through a Friday night bunfight with the martyred groan of “It’s hell at that bar”?
Instead, millions of us are staying safely at home. We’re mixing our own cocktails and protecting our lungs, but I’m not so sure we’re as concerned about our livers. I began lockdown in March behaving like Sarah Connor in The Terminator: doing squats, lifting weights, drinking gallons of water, determined to live out the apocalypse. But soon the new world needed numbing and a lovely bottle of botanical gin – so fancy! – appeared in my grocery basket. Now, months later, I ask myself: am I the only one drinking more than ever? Continue reading...