JMorgan

Last updated 01:00, Thursday, 29 March 2007

I WOKE up recently only to read that my life was going to hell in a handcart. As if there wasn’t enough to stress about I now discovered that us two-glasses of wine a night “binge” drinkers are wrecking our livers.

Oh, and we should also flagellate ourselves over the fact that most of us only like cooking our four favourite meals a week.

I’m sure, like me, you probably thought that since you weren’t reaching for illegally-produced Russian vodka (the stuff that turns you yellow) first thing in a morning or eating a diet based solely around nasty, saturated fats and diseased-ridden offal swept off abattoir floors, you were doing ok. Apparently not.

When you woke last Monday morning you could really only pat yourself on the back, for being a good human being, if:

Every, single action you carried out left not a trace of carbon footprint. You need to personally recycle every plastic bag, bottle, newspaper and tin-can; install solar plates in your roof and wind turbines in your garden; never pass offensive wind after eating or travel in anything except a bike held together with ecologically-sound string.

You never allow anything past your lips which has not been grown organically, three miles or under from your home or contains any fats or sodium additives which make it taste fabulous. Basically, to feel good about yourself you need to simply live on carrots grown in your neighbour’s garden, which, you know for your cat hasn’t pooed on.

You never, ever, ever allow your children to watch TV, play on computer games or fight like dogs in the comfort of their own home. You are a failed mother if your children argue back, sigh a lot and slam doors, don’t do their homework the night it was issued, like toy guns and would rather eat crisps than broccoli.

You only drink one glass of red wine a week (whether you feel like it or not). You may push the boat out at weddings and christenings and have a glass of champagne.

You should feel that, although it would be good to reach for a second glass of red wine on a Saturday night while laughing out loud at Harry Hill, it would more than likely push you over the edge into addiction.

I decided to celebrate my life running out of control by drinking a glass of Shiraz, making my own-recipe fail-safe chilli (which I do at least twice a week) and sticking two fingers up to anyone from the government who came on Sky News to lecture me about heading towards hell.