No, really. Proper, hallucinogenic dreams last night involving a bar where the gantry was all clear, empty glasses and bottles, and Guinness, extra cold, on draught. I could taste it.
That and a road coated in white, choking dust.
Not that I'm a great fan of Guinness. I did have a transcendent experience in Cork in 1978, where I first tasted Murphy's Stout. Much nicer.
Thing is, I woke up without any desire for an alcoholic drink. I've only ever been tempted in that direction on two, mega-hungover occasions, one involving a funeral. No, what I wanted was tea and some of my fresh-baked bread. Which, I must admit, did taste a bit yeasty...
Anyway, I've decided that for the next 27 days I will not stint on grub, eating what I like, without guilt. So today at 11.45 am I was in the Skipidock scoffing macaroni cheese and chips with real enjoyment. Yum.