Dry July Dropout

I gave it a go.  I really did. And I did well.  For two weeks. 

It just. Didn't. Make. Sense.


Dry July has made over $1.5M this year for the Cancer Foundations of local hospitals.  This money was raised by people giving up their plonk for the month of July, and being sponsored by their friends and colleagues. Sounds like a good idea. Dry out for 31 days, rest my liver, save some money and raise money for cancer.


Except for one thing. My friends, the ones I'm asking to donate, are also the ones who want to drink with me. In the famous word of HJ Simpson: DOH!


This was the flaw in my plan.  What would be in it for them? To have me not drink?  Initially, I thought, I could drive them to and from their Boozy Bashes. Except I had the play on the weekends. No takers.  And I avoided their Midweek Mellowers because I wasn't in the city, and wanted to save money, so no love there.


So there was the evidence. And staring me in the face, after 2 weeks, was the mother of all drinking occasions: An expat farewell.


The US expats do not take it well when one of our own leaves. And it wasn't just one, but a pair.  And not just that it was two.  But who the two were.


There is line from Ferris Bueller's Day Off when Cameron is sick in bed and Ferris calls him to tell him to get up and pick him up. Cameron says, "He'll just keep calling me, and calling me, until I go..."


That is the response when Kurt asks "Pub?" (P p p?) So you go. No matter how tired, no matter how skint, no matter what else you have planned. You go. DRY JULY OR OTHERWISE!

I couldn't bear the thought of not having one. last. drink.


So sorry Prince of Wales (and my liver), I only raised $50 for 2 weeks. I blame Kurt.