curdled liver foggy head

I was reading the contents page of a Sunday paper magazine today - and my heart gave a little hopeful leap as one of the articles was titled Mothers Ruin! Fame at last! I've been reviewed in a Sunday paper! Strange that the journo hasn't contacted me to ask me any pertinent questions about how my writing is inspired and am I a permanent pessimist in real life and how many of my fascinating accounts are truth or fabrication...? But then I read the little side-line attached to the title and realised that the article was nothing to do with ME but something to do with... Oh, crumbs, I've forgotten what the article was about and I've forgotten which paper it was (my sister in law gets the Mail on Sunday which we all sniff our noses at but then find ourselves reading and making oohs and ahs at the EXCLUSIVE headlines about Anne Robinsons latest £12,000 facelift and Husband buys The Observer and we all read it very quietly pretending to absorb important facts about Global Warming and how to mulch a city garden).
Why have I forgotten the name of the paper and what the article was about? I only saw it, what? 5hours ago? I hope the reason I have forgotten is because the article was in fact in The Mail on Sunday and was so mundane that the words didn't even reach the perifory of my brain. What I worry is that the reason I have forgotten is because my body is currently a sponge soaked in cheap white wine and smelling slightly of the raw onion I crunched into by mistake at last nights post-cricket-Hog-Roast-party.
My body has been through the mill of late. A mill created entirely by my weak will, my lilly-livered-behaviour which is fueling my poor liver to actually ripple as I douse it in yet another shower of acidic wine, or possibly an (these are so good: elder-flower-gin&tonic) extra strong gin made by my cocktail-crackers-Dad. But these are the holidays, right? No need to get up in the morning (apart from Thursdays to skip into work where I type letters for Mrs B who tells me in falsetto whispers all about the various members of staff and their vices), what harm will one more glass of cheap white wine do? So down it goes. Maybe accompanied by a cigarette (I don't really smoke, honest... just annoyingly nick of others...) rolled by my brother or maybe a lump of chocolate or a slice of cheese. It's always so good at the time. But come the morning I wake feeling groggy. And recently my stomach has had some gruesome aches which can't be down to stress because this being the summer holidays there is nothing to stress about except whether the wine is not cool enough or the tomatoes need watering. After a long hot day in the park with two kiddies splashing around in a filthy lido there is nothing better than a large icy glass of wine, no? I can't believe you would disagree ('you' being my one reader, although he'd probably opt for a glass of cold beer). So it feels excusable. But I wonder how much my body is reacting to constantly having to process another 2-4 glasses of wine each day?
I have seen that programme "Make my body younger" where some young party animal who drinks and smokes and parties all night gets a "living autopsy" and the doctor says with very dramatic music moaning in the background, "if you carry on with this lifestyle you'll be dead before the end of this programme" and then they stop drinking and smoking and go to the gym and before the end of the programme they have another "living autopsy" and the doctor declares "well done you have reduced your risk of death before the end of this programme by 100%". But my point is this: if I had a living autopsy would the doctor say the same thing when he looked into my liver? Would it be curdled? And would he look down my earholes and see a very foggy brain that only had two fully functioning nerves remaining? How much does a gal have to drink, regularly, before her body has a physical reaction in the Sainsbury's Cheap Wine aisle?
Afterall I am no whipper snapper any more. NO! I am half way through the decade that takes me to the big four-oh. My body cannot snap into shape like it could, um, when it used to snap back into shape.
I just found this website about detoxing. I may try it. And I've got the Green Tea already so I'm half way there. I just hope I remember to do it. What with a foggy brain and a curdled liver its very difficult remembering what one is meant to be doing at all.
Whats on my shopping list for tomorrow? Bread, cheese, chocolate, fags, wine, wine, wine (its still the holidays afterall...). This mother is well and truly ruined.