Apparently The Cure Is To Go Jolling – Notes From The Editor

Earlier this week, I made the mistake of asking readers for help. After several weeks of this particularly persistent flu, I had reached the stage where conventional medicine appeared to have done all it could, so I put out a fairly urgent appeal for old-fashioned remedies.

Thank you. The response was magnificent, but, unfortunately, none of it was publishable. There were several suggestions involving alcohol, a couple involving substances that may or may not be entirely legal, and remedies which, if followed precisely, would probably cure the flu by killing the patient.

So I have developed a new treatment plan: I am going out. This happens to coincide with a particularly busy weekend around here, with the Belgian Beer Festival at Cape St Francis Resort, the Dress Up Beer Run, Henry Ate, Dalin Oliver, Brandon Peel and plenty of other reasons to leave the house, see actual human beings and remember that there is a world beyond tissues, cough mixture and green mucus (sorry).

There is one slight complication in all of this, which is that I don’t drink. I haven’t had a drink for just over 400 days, which is occasionally inconvenient because I still think drinking is quite cool. I know that is probably not the approved way of discussing the subject. We are meant to talk about alcohol in sensible terms involving moderation, units and responsible choices, but the fact remains that drinking brought me some extremely good times.

It also brought me some spectacularly bad mornings, missing sections of evenings and conversations that seemed profoundly important at 1 am and turned out, in daylight, to have been utter crap. Stopping was one of my better decisions, but that doesn’t mean I have suddenly developed an objection to everybody else having a few. Quite the opposite. I remain entirely supportive of other people’s right to get woozy.

A Belgian Beer Festival full of people drinking Belgian beer, therefore sounds excellent, and I shall simply be the irritatingly sober bloke watching proceedings deteriorate with complete clarity. I may be high.

Either way, after several weeks of being sick, working through it, complaining about it and generally becoming bored with my own company, I think getting out amongst St Francis might be the best medicine available. I am probably not in peak festival condition, but there is a lot happening this weekend, and I intend to see some of it.