Imagine if you could guarantee that your day would be flawless. It would be so perfect that when you think of person the phone buzzes instantly with their call. This is a day when you make all the right decisions, see sexy single people in the street who wave to you and when the temperature is deliciously balmy in the day before a ripping sunset steals the show. There are plenty of gourmet cheeses kicking around, too.
The day is very easy to attain.
All you need to do is open the fridge, extract a bottle of ale, open it and tip towards the lips. I’m talking about the breakfast beer, a fine tradition that replaces horrid morning-glory-killers such as stress, bags under the eyes and inhibitions, with a hazy happiness. And I am not just taking about a hair-of-the-dog on Sunday, the breakfast beer is ideally consumed during the week, in the middle of your white-picket-fence routine.
Wednesday is my post-deadline chill-out day in Charleville. I had planned to strap on my sneakers this morning and go for a sneaky run along the river before lying on my picnic rug in the backyard with my book.
But those plans ended up heading into a stubby cooler when I turned on the tap and found out my water had been politely disconnected by some boogie man in the night. I’m not sure what happened to the water, I didn’t bother finding out. Instead I took charge of my day and opened a Peroni.
It has been an extremely pleasant day.
Firstly, the brew put a magnificent grin on my face. Then, it relaxed me, which is what any doctor would have prescribed after putting the paper to bed last night. I believe if you put yourself in the best mood possible in the morning there is little room for disappointment to seep in like a bad odour moving across a classroom.
My morning reminded me of a place in Cambodia that had a creative menu, including a rockstar breakfast comprising a shot of whiskey, a packet of cigarettes and two cups of coffee. All for $3.50. Unfortunately I am not a smoker, so the meal was not at all appropriate. However, one of my mates had enough stamina and a filthy nicotine habit, so he showed that combo meal who was boss. He made some great decisions that day.
It would have suited my dad’s old mate, Pete, a flamboyant drinker and fan of the brekki beer. He’d down a brew or two on the way to work to keep his colleagues guessing.
The trick with the BB is that you still have to be able to operate machinery and conduct yourself without drooling, slurring or laughing in a high-pitched fashion. Unless it is a Sunday it is quite important to stick to one beer in the morning, two at most.
The thing I love most about drinking in the morning is the feeling of decadence and naughtiness that comes with flaunting a societal taboo, shunning tea for alcohol. Bucking that routine felt gloriously liberating. Still, I’ll justify it for the naysayers by saying I had a quiet weekend, tucking myself in before ten on Friday and Saturday like some sort of nun. My behaviour had to be rectified.
The worst thing was when the last dregs of the beer were finished and the realisation dawned that the lawn needed to be cut and I had no water. Luckily, by the time I’d downed my beer the water had been mysteriously switched back on. Perfect.