Withdrawal

WE’VE lately been trying to avoid going to the Pub quite as often – it was all getting a little out of hand.

Even now, some of our friends say “See you tomorrow,” as if automatically assuming our presence there.

We’ve tried to be tactful about it, it’s nothing personal we tell them; it’s just that an eight-mile round trip is rather a long way to go for us.

What’s more, the Pub isn’t the cheapest of places in which to have a drink – our village local, here, charges nearly forty pence less for the same round of drinks.

And what’s more, our local here is within a comfortable walking distance for me, and an easy ride for My Good Lady on her electric scooter.

This process of withdrawal has been going on, gradually, for some time – indeed since last year, when we abandoned our membership of the gym (one of the principal reasons we ended up going there quite so often – after the strain of exercise the need for a recuperative drink being strong upon us!).

I know some of our friends and acquaintances miss our company, but we still see most of them at least once a week. Like I say, it’s not personal. Indeed, the only reason we still make the trip is to meet up with them and have an enjoyable crack together.

Just a little less often, that’s all.