What happened on Friday.

Oh, lovely Friday, my little beauty. Friday went really well.

Friday, my seventh day without alcohol - by my experience of professionally administered detoxes this is well in the 'alcohol is all out of your system' territory. I can laugh at breathalyzers and breeze through blood tests.

Again, I was up. A shower, a cup of tea for Mrs Cardiff Drunk. A proper breakfast (does a bowl of muesli and an apple count as that?) and took all my supplements; whether they're actually doing me any good who knows, but taking them makes me feel better. Fine band Placebo - up to a point.

Then, out the door and into the horrid, horrid world of the main shopping drag. (After Thursday being my first Diazepam-free day, I'm sorry to say I popped two to set me on my way.)

And, I did fine. I started early enough that the crowds weren't too horrendous and managed to get of seasonal shopping done. I even phoned my mum and dad to tell them what I'd be up to in this season of seasonal.

Mind you, the whole thing did exhaust me. Physically more than mentally to be honest. In my latest - what is it - 10 months of abusive boozing, my daily exercise has consisted of little more than walking to the supermarket or the pub. By the time I'd schlepped round Cardiff's shops my legs were killing me.

I had a bit of a minor panic when I got back. I don't know why, that's just part of the problem I guess. But managed to keep going, managed to sort all my laundry out before sitting at the computer, which always signals a certain amount of purposeless time wasting.

Stupidly, I took my Trazodone even earlier than usual because I was due in work Saturday at 9am and was terrified that I'd be suffering from a pill hangover. Mrs Cardiff Drunk and I had intended to watch the Dylan Thomas film - the Edge of Love - but I never made it to the end.

Dylan Thomas probably has a fair claim to being the world's most famous Welshman. Who else is there? Maybe Richard Burton and probably in these days of ubiquitous globalised super premier league bobbins Ryan Giggs is certainly up there. The rugby stars will be known round the world too, but the number of countries that play football dwarfs the number or rugby union nations, so Ryan it is, Craig Bellamy too I suppose, and Aaron Ramsey at Arsenal and so on.

I couldn't keep up with the film too well. It was all well and good and enjoyable up to a point, but, felt slow moving. I can watch a film when I'm drunk and get right into it, when I'm sober (and I know I'm going to have to learn this discipline - thank you for the meditation tips anonymous commenter, I will certainly start to look at that, and maybe that will help my concentration) my mind races too much and I need to read, or write, or play the guitar as well.

Dylan Thomas had a funny relationship with Wales I think. He wanted to leave, but, he wanted to come back too, but you never lose your heraith. I even get it and I wasn't even born in Wales - so it may be psychosomatic heraith; is that allowed? I'll ask the next Bard I see - possibly on Bardsey.

I've got an uncle Dylan, and have always pronounced it as my Welsh-speaking mother and family have, which is Dullan. So, I've always said Dullan Thomas and told people who say Dillan that they're wrong. Well, apparently not, according to the film (and my mother's told me he may well have anglicised his name of his own accord). Strangely the only person in the film who pronounced it in what I've been blithely considering the 'correct' way was Sienna Miller's Irish Caitlin rather than his Welsh-speaking Swansea sweetheart Vera Phillips. And even Caitlin used Dullan only rarely, so may have been using it as a put down.

Mmmm. And, so what. If anyone knows the reason for the pronunciation I'd love to know. Incidentally, it's a fine way to annoy fans of Robert Zimmerman fans by insisting on calling him Bob Dullan - 'because that's the correct pronunciation'. I'm sure Sideshow Bob himself would find it most amusing.

Lordy me, what a long post.

Yeah. Friday was ok thank you. I hope your's was too.

Today though, it's Saturday. And Saturday may be the day of drink. It hasn't be yet, but it may well be. We shall see and report back tomorrow. Do not go gentle into that food shite - as I advise customers outside MacDonald's.