25 years: Check.

It was my 25th birthday this weekend just gone. I didn’t have a crazy party, I didn’t get force fed alcohol, and I didn’t wake up the next day with a hangover.

It was a magnificent weekend of only doing exactly what I felt like doing – in this case, relaxing at home, drawing pretty pictures in my new A4 notebook, hanging out with Sam and eating good food. Sam got me the notebook, and biros and some olives. He knows me so well.

It kind of makes me feel like a proper grown up. So long, peer pressure and getting wasted. It’s been fun, but I really am done with feeling so unnecessarily ill. I went out to the pub for like three hours the other night, and I only had one glorious half of ale.

And so, I start my 26th year feeling pretty smug with my new sensible habits, knowing that “Drink less” won’t be making an appearance on my list of New Year’s resolutions. There’s only one thing on that list at the moment: Spend at least 365 hours drawing my pretty ballpoint pen patterns. I think I can do it.

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