Better with Bouillon

January 2nd, 1996 

Throw vodka out. 

January 3rd, 1996

For Real This Time

January 4th, 1996 

I cannot wind up like Gran. Eighty year old woman blacked out floating in her pool at her birthday party ← bad. 

Could be fun?  

Sounds grim. 

January 5th, 1996

This does not mean you will end up blacked out floating in a pool on your eightieth birthday party. BUT a month-long-stay-away from the good stuff will help “ground” you. Or whatever load of shit David used to say before he dumped you for someone with a sensible hair color. 

January 6th, 1996 

Went out for after-work drinks. Did not drink. Did not die. 

January 7th, 1996 

Was wrong. Want to die. 

January 8th, 1996

Packed myself a tuna fish sandwich for lunch. Smell is much more pleasant when not nauseous in the morning. 

January 9th, 1996

Ran into David. Looks too happy. Must get to a salon soon. Didn’t buy gin on the walk home. 

January 10th, 1996

Very clear now that not drinking has not stopped me from being wildly annoying at work. 

Reminder to self: keep voice down. Also: not everything is funny. Also, also: everything you say isn’t always funny. 

January 11th, 1996 

Missing David. 

January 12th. 1996

Sometimes it feels like everybody is good at the ordinary bits but me. Cannot imagine being good at grocery lists and knowing how to sear a fish. The seafood section of the grocery store gives me stage-fright— Or whatever the equivalent is when you can’t remember why on earth you might prefer tilapia over salmon. Fishfright. 

“Hello, good man. Tell me, what’s hot in ‘fish’ right now?”

God I’m a lunatic. Maybe I’ll ring Mum and tell her how good I’ve been doing with the no drinking thing. Maybe I’ll just try bangs again instead? 

Buy a comb. 

January 13th, 1996 

Starting to think the bangs actually suit me. Didn’t do too bad of a job. 

GO. TO. SALON. 

January 14th, 1996 

Was feeling brave and went to Lou’s birthday party. Massive mistake. Ran into David near the profiteroles. Left early. 

January 15th, 1996 

Starting to think the bangs are an issue. 

January 16th, 1996 

What’s so great about going drink-free? All this effort for what? So that everything can be sharp at the edges with no breaks?! 

January 17th, 1996

Made some soup. Was shit because I didn’t have any bouillon. 

January 18th, 1996

Maybe Gran had it right. 

January 22nd, 1996

Missed a couple of days. Caved. Made a whisky sour on the 19th. Made four more. Called David. He told me not to call him anymore. 

I think he misses me. 

Woke up with something crusting in my hair. Really, truly must go to the salon. 

January 23rd, 1996 

Double caved. Rang mum. Drunk rang mum. Finally told her David left. She said the dreaded words, “Well isn’t this just like you, Piper. He was a good one.” IknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknow!!!!

January 24th, 1996 

Finally tossed the whiskey down the drain. Wish I could throw myself down the garbage disposal with it. Wouldn’t be a bad way to go really. Maybe they’ll let me do a story at the paper about the dark underbelly of the u-bend. 

January 25th, 1996

Got bouillon. 

January 26th, 1996 

I started all this because of Gran’s big eightieth. Because I thought it was cool at first. Funny. Classic Leo she is. I was proud I saw a bit of myself in her lanky floating body— Just without the muumuus.

But the thing is. If you catch her before noon she’s viciously sad even though I think all she’s ever wanted was to laugh everything off. But even when she laughs I can see how Puppa was unkind to her growing up. In the pool she looked shockingly little. Maybe it was the years she wasted making cabbage soup, cottage cheese on tomato– obsessing over that ridiculous book Dine Out and Lose Weight: The French Way to Culinary Savoir Vivre. I’ve told Gran she’s already a smoker, what's with the extra reading? Mitterrand should have her on his payroll.

Dad had to actually go in the pool and drag her out. He doesn’t drink when we’re visiting Gran. He doesn’t come out and say it but I think we’ve all sort of noticed. David was always saying that it seems like Dad doesn’t trust her to be left alone. 

Guess he was right about that, left to her own devices she might’ve hit her head or let her fab silver crop sink a little too low and start breathing in water by mistake. I saw Dad standing there on the lawn while everybody else laughed. I was laughing. But he looked like The Parent. That’s what I thought. I couldn’t take my eyes off that little crease in between his eyebrows, well worn like one of the archeology digs he did before he herniated a disk in ‘82. 

How have I managed to fuck things up with a dad like that? ‘Cmon party girl.” Is what he said. Wading into the water in his trousers and loafers, not caring that his favorite watch got wet. 

David and I got into a fight on the car ride home. He told me that’s where I was headed. I told him he was doing a seriously good Anthony Hopkins impression. He gave me an ultimatum. I told him to go fuck himself. By the time I called him up saying I could cut out the drinking for a bit— and show him, really show him that I’ve got things perfectly under control— he had already started going with whatshername. As horrid as I am I always thought I’d be tough to replace. 

That was Summer and I was probably drunk until Christmas. I couldn’t get Gran’s floating little body out of my head. I’d think of her while lying awake at night. Instead of counting sheep I’d count little old ladies who have too much fun for their own good. But you know, new year, new me and all that. Tricky part is— all I want is a drink. 

January 27th, 1996

• ¼ cup of olive oil 
• 1 onion
• 2 shallots (shellfish?) kind of onion!!
• 4 cloves of garlic 
• 2 carrots 
• 2 celery stalks
• 3 cans of cannellini beans drained and rinsed (surely that’s too many beans) 
• 2 bay leaves (?? ring mum) 
• 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning. 
• ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
• 5-6 cups vegetable broth 
• ½ teaspoon sea salt 
• ½ teaspoon black pepper
• 3 cups of spinach 

January 28th, 1996 

Had Mum ‘round for soup. She said that it was pretty good even if the beans had gone a bit soft. Told her nobody wants a hard bean. 

She apologized for what she’d said on the phone. The bit about me making a mess of things with David and “how that’s just my nature.” Told her that I’m trying to quit drinking. Don’t know why I said that.  

January 29th, 1996 

I stopped by the cafe. Can’t believe I ever thought that was a good idea. This is why people shouldn’t ditch their girlfriends when they start dating someone because girlfriends are the people who stop you from doing this kind of shit. I tried to act surprised when I saw him even though he works there every Friday morning because he bakes their pies back of house and even though he’s supposed to only bake pies they’re always cajoling him to work counter when it gets busy and they don’t have weekend staff. 

I tried to look sort of effortlessly sophisticated— sort of grown up. But I think I wound up looking too much like Lorraine Kelly. 

When I got to the front of the cue I didn’t even know what to say. Said I was sorry. That I’ve been thinking a lot about how I couldn’t have always been easy to be with sometimes. I told him I’m thinking about quitting drinking. Don’t know why I keep telling people that. 

January 30th, 1996

I’m actually feeling sort of nice? Watch out London! Went on a little walk even and bought a ticket for a cheeky Shakespeare show. Like I’m an intellectual or something! Thinking about pitching a new column at the paper about reviews of local entertainment. Lorraine Kelly eat your heart out. 

Addendum: David came by very late. He almost had my pants off when I realized it was just a terrible fucking idea. Told him to go home to Marzia. Going to sleep wondering if we really ever loved each other. 

January 31st, 1996 

No calls from David. Went to the Salon (thankeffingod) and think I’ll stick with the pink for a while? It sort of suits me at the end of the day. Got the fringe straightened out which looks fab. Took the long way home by the water and it started to snow. Very pretty, that stuff. 

It’s nice to feel cold again, I used to think I ran warm. That feels untrue now which makes me feel sort of strange and embarrassed. Especially when there’s something about Winter that reminds you you’re alive. Something about faces and fingers cooling and reheating and noses going pink. Maybe I quite like the new year— like I might not make a mess of things this time. Like it’s not my nature at all. Just timing. 

At some point on the walk home I heard a group of people singing loudly at a local pub and it sort of broke my heart to not be a part of it. But the noise floated off the Thames and it made me feel less alone all the same. 

Terrible singers. Not a Celine Dion in the bunch of them.