Willpower; or, Why Do I Always Succumb To Peer Pressure?

So yesterday morning I updated my Facebook status to 'Kathryn is resolved to have a booze-free fortnight'. Partly as a result of a wine-fuelled Saturday night at my parents along with my godparents and some family friends, where, while I didn't have a hangover the next day, totalling up the number of glasses drunk nevertheless made for sobering reading. At least I didn't finish the night on whisky, unlike Ali and my Dad, who were both very worse for wear on Sunday morning. So much so that Mum even emailed me yesterday to ask if Ali had recovered (and knowing the infrequency with which she checks her yahoo account, this was concern indeed).

Actually I've been relatively abstemious this year so far, mostly because of the various bugs and viruses which laid me low until about mid February, but also out of a desire to live a little healthier. So a booze free fortnight wasn't presenting me with many qualms, after all, only one real weekend to get through and no major nights out planned.

Except last night, after a meeting with our agency in an office right in the middle of heavingly busy Oxford Street (are there ever any days of the year when it isn't teaming with people?) I was about to take my leave at 5.30 and fight my way onto a tube at Oxford Circus. It took me almost 5 seconds to decide in favour of the suggestion of a quick drink, and even less time to agree to the champagne ordered in the bar. Yet a mere 9 hours earlier I was convinced a couple of weeks of orange juice and fizzy water were the right way forward and determined to stick to it. I could have declined the after-work social and gone home (boring and anti-social as well as possibly missing out on any juicy gossip or even just interesting general chit chat). Or I could have chosen a mineral water as my drink of choice (the sensible thing to do but nowhere near as tasty as a couple of glasses of cold champagne). Instead it didn't even present me with a moral dilemma - I just changed my mind in favour of the easy and more enjoyable route.

I wouldn't even be blogging about this normally, except a similar cop out occurred last Tuesday, when I just decided not to go to Body Balance. I was home in plenty of time, wasn't feeling ill, knew I could do with going and also knew I would enjoy it when I got there. I didn't even make a feeble excuse to myself like I normally do ("oh I'm so shattered/run down" "oh it will be too busy and I won't get a decent spot" " oh I don't have enough cash on me"). I just didn't want to go. My good intentions appear to be being sabotaged by a lazy little devil on my shoulder, whispering words of apathy in my ear whenever it looks like I'm about to make a decent decision. I'm not sure I like it - somehow I need to find the willpower to close my ears when those thoughts insinuate themselves into my head.

But that champagne *was* nice...