Happy New Year (Word Sketch)

just don’t tell anyone that you’re up to forty-a-day with the patches. You may be a non-smoker now but, when seen in the nude, you resemble someone who’s been standing too close to a puncture repair kit when it exploded…

Next you turn your attention to alcohol – but not in the way you used to. Nope. Now you’re convinced that within four months you’ll be teetotal. But after three days of ordering tomato juice, orange juice and that old favourite, pineapple juice, at your local, you’ve discovered that you’re a bit of an athlete. Yes, you are now campaigning to get the “Convenience Sprint” (or as your friends at Alcoholics Anonymous have nicknamed it “The Not Piste Run”) recognised and included as an official event in the upcoming Olympics.

And, having suddenly discovered your latent talent for athletics, you join the gym. Sweat, pain, sweat, more pain…need I say more?

Eight months on and you’re a shining example of what a healthy body should look like. You’re a god/goddess (delete as applicable, leave blank if undecided). Trouble is you’re feeling fidgety, on edge, panicky, not quite your usual carefree self.

A quick visit to the doctor confirms your worst fears – you’re stressed. The doc advises you to find something relaxing to do, something enjoyable that will calm your nerves and soothe your troubled mind. That’s settled then. You know exactly what to do.

On your way home you call at two shops. Once through the door of your des res you slump on the sofa, pick up the TV remote, kick of your shoes and open your wares – a pack of ciggies, a few cans and that old standby - the fish supper. Within thirty seconds you’ve reached that Zen-like state that many learned men have strived (and failed) to achieve within their lifetime!

by Ruth Ainley