JBBF18 and simultaneous doggo and cat snuggles.

SIMULTANEOUS DOGGO AND CAT SNUGGLES. YES, I AM EXCITED. 

I thought my first alcohol free weekend would be the most difficult challenge to overcome. What the living fuck do you do at the weekend without booze?! Then I was through it and thought GCSE week would be the most difficult challenge to overcome. How do you wind down after 12 hour stressssssful days without booze? But then I was through it and if anything, the whole week went better for me being on top form. I mean come on, I only cried once! Then I thought our first camping holiday would be the most difficult challenge to overcome. How do you break the rituals of packing the car so the boxes of wine (one red, one white) are the first thing to be unloaded when you arrive and the first thing to be set up, before even the tent, is the booze table? But I did and if anything, putting the tent up was much less snappy than previous years! Then I thought it would be Summer. Then I thought it would be the wedding.

And then publicity for JBBF18 arrived and I decided to organise the Drunk Poetry stage again. How could that possibly trigger me eh?! I made a deal with myself that we would just attend on the Saturday. We could walk doggo down, manage my event in the afternoon and then fuck the fuck off. What was I even thinking?! Of course that wouldn’t work!

Suddenly, it would be Foxy’s last day at his job after eight years there. We decided a JBBF18 leaving party would be the best thing we could do for him. That meant we would be there on Saturday night too. That’s OK, walk the dog down, do poetry, walk the dog home, have dinner, go back in the evening.

Then Hubs decided that he ought to go on Thursday evening before the beer started running out. OK… Well, he wouldn’t be back from work until 8pm so again, we could walk doggo down for a couple of hours and then mooch off home. Maybe I wouldn’t even go.

Then a mate’s band was playing on Sunday at 5pm. OK. We can mooch the dog down at 5pm, stay for an hour and then go home.

Then another mate’s band was playing at 3pm. OK. So we could mooch the dog down for a few hours but honestly, she’s gonna struggle with that (like her Mother) so we’ll have to walk the dog, pop down for a few hours, go home for dinner.

And before you know it, our last Summer weekend off is spent entirely at a Beer Festival.

Now don’t get me wrong… This is the greatest beer festival in the history of the Universe. The beer list alone this week made me cry into a cat because FUCK MY LIFE IT IS PERFECT. As it’s local, ALL of our friends are there and it’s the perfect catch up opportunity to watch amazing bands and reconnect. It’s the highlight of our social calendar and the last glorious stand for the end of Summer before we move into Autumn and everybody starts getting maudlin while I’m swinging from fake cobwebs and watching Elf.

As some of you may be aware, if you can remember, last night was the first night of JBBF18. We mooched down with doggo. Hubs tried to help by letting me pick his beers but all it did was thrust the beer menu into my mind while I wept internally about how fucking fucked up all of this is. Or more succinctly how fucking fucked up I am.

The company was on form (and completely wankered), everybody was smiling, the music was great and the three pints of water I drank were truly a fucking delight. A friend told me that I was her hero. “And tonight, my superpower is not getting wankered!”

Towards the end of the night, another friend had been bought a Raspberry Berliner Weisse that they tried and pulled a face at. “It’s only 3%.” I heard, repeated around the table. And hey presto, there popped up the Beer Bastard. “Go on K, it’s only a half and it’s only 3%. It’s not even beer. Help a mate out you selfish bitch.”

Time. To. Leave.

I didn’t even finish my delicious water. We walked home, hand in hand and chatted all the way home about big stuff. About anxiety, about PTSD, about the impact of emotional and physical abuse (on doggos and humans), about the life we’ve made for ourselves, about our future.

When we got home, I made myself some cheesy wedges, poured us both a drink (fucking massive shout out to Nirvana Brewery, the Karama Pale Ale was a life saver last night. Note to self, must order more…), put some rubbish on the TV, put my phone down so we could keep chatting and then… Then it happened.

Doggo on sofa. Cats meowing at the back door. Refusing to come in and then insisting on coming in before bolting back out. Both cats in, door closed. Me, on sofa, snuggling dog. Captain Niggles pops her head up and meows that she fancies some snuggles too. I invite her up. Dog on my left snuggling, Captain Niggles on my right snuggling. She immediately realises she’s made a terrible mistake, because she fucking hates me, and she moves on to Hubs. Macho Meow Mandy Savage pops her head up and meows that she also fancies snuggles. I invite her up. Doggo still on left, lifts her head to see what’s happening. Macho gets within an inch of her face, has a sniff, accepts some snuggles (from me, not doggo) and there you have it. I’ve been dual snuggled with dog and cat.

I’ll be honest. This was the greatest five minutes of my life. If we’re ranking them:

1. First ever simultaneous dog and cat snuggles.

2. Our wedding day.

3. Getting the keys to our first home. (Also the worst day of my life.)

This would not have happened if I had been wankered. We’d have rocked up home at 1am, drunkenly ordered takeaway and we probs wouldn’t have had a dog so yeah… Little things eh?

I have no doubt that this weekend will be tough. I know that I need to plan for every eventuality and that at times, I’m going to have to do my Irish goodbye and fuck the fuck off outta there. Equally, I know that I will be surrounded by the most amazing people in the history of the Universe, that they understand all of this and that none of them judge me. Hubs will have all of the support he needs if I can’t be there and I will have all of the support I need if I can be there.

And the upside of it all is, I can ring them all up at 7am and shout about going for a walk while they’re all hanging out of their arseholes and I’ve already been up for hours! I’m 105 days sober and I will be 108 days sober by the end of this weekend.

There will always be something on the horizon that you’re not sure you can deal with. Know that with the right tools at your disposal, you can. This will not be the last in a list of difficults for me. We’re now rapidly approaching the run up to Christmas party season, Christmas itself, present wrapping without alcohol (sorry Hubs, your job this year), Christmas Champagne Morning (yes, this is an actual thing) and NYE. My point is, if you want something enough, you’ll do anything to get it. And this life, the one we have created together and the one I have lived in HD for the past three months, is all I have ever wanted.

If anybody is about on Saturday 1st September (tomorrow) between 2pm and 4pm, we’ll be running the drunk poetry stage. Sadly I doubt I will be performing as my drunk poems are all about being an alcoholic and probably not fit for purpose when everybody is enjoying delicious booze! Pop on down anyway, the Jolly Brewer Beer Fest, Foundry Road, Stamford. Yeah! See you there…