Falling off the wagon

So the funny thing about celibacy? It seems when it’s unofficial (ie. when you’re just having a bit of a drought), it’s a damn sight easier to stick to. Conversely when you have made the vow publicly to numerous actual people (I say numerous in the hope that more than just my mum reads my column. Hi Mum.), it suddenly becomes much more of a challenge.

No sooner had I hit send on the email containing last month’s column (and brave assertion that I had transformed into a beacon of virginity), than temptation arrived on my doorstep. And I’m talking literally.

Since I moved into my lovely new home back in January, the house next door has been sitting empty but the other weekend, all of a sudden, there came the distinct sound of someone tramping up and down the stairs heaving boxes. A new arrival in our hood. “Ooh new neighbours!” I proclaim excitedly to my housemate Johnny. “Yeah, I met them earlier and you’ll be pleased to hear it’s three boys - one of whom is apparently just home from touring with his band.” Potential Hot Indie Boy next door - amazing.

Fast forward a few hours, I’m leaving the house to meet Liv for lunch and bump into said HIB on the doorstep. “Oh hi, I’m X, I just moved in ne….” he trails off and we both look at each other incredulously.

I’ve met this particular HIB before. In fact the last time I saw him, we were pretty much in a liplock for the entire evening. Afterwards there was some flirtatious texting but given the fact he lived up North, it seemed pointless to start anything up. I knew I’d see him again at some point as he’d just signed to my friend’s record label - but I wasn’t quite expecting to see him directly outside my front door.

“Eh hi X, this is a bit of a coincidence,” I manage, as a flush creeps up his neck - shy boy this one. “Hi Carrie, I had no idea you lived here. This is mad.” Indeed it is, I agree and approximately 2 and a half minutes of awkward conversation ensues before I make my excuses and we both turn to leave with stunned smiles frozen on our faces.

Since then, I have successfully managed to avoid bumping into him, but the knowledge that he could be laying in bed on the other side of the wall from where I lay my head, immediately unlocked the door in my mind to the kind of thoughts my vow was supposed to quell. ‘Well as long as I don’t act on them,’ I tell myself. Before promptly going out and sleeping with the first man who chats me up. Whoopsadaisy.

The result of that particular encounter was a plethora of embarrassing lovebites, a sore head, and the lingering worry that I may have acted like a wanton hussy (I can‘t be sure as the old memory had been dulled into submission by a cocktail of white wine, brandy, and sambuca). One thing I was sure of - I had no idea what this man’s name was, I wanted him out of my bed sharpish, and I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

Of course, what with my life being a ridiculous chain of embarrassing events, I bumped into him in the same bar just a few days later. Fortunately I know the bar manager….so I had him barred. Problem solved.

Deciding this was an inevitable slip-up on my path to a virginal existence, I attempted another night of white wine induced drunkenness to test my mettle. To minimise the chance of bad behaviour on my part, I decided to make it a Thursday night out, hoping that the anticipation of work in the morning would stop me going too far, and to take my mate Laura, who promised to ensure we remained civilised.

Sadly, after the nth glass of cheap white wine which they were proffering for free at the 1st birthday of my favourite Camden haunt, things began to go downhill. The process went roughly as follows:

9.30pm: Laura and I are approached by two young men asking for a light.
10pm: Laura and I decide party is lame and head to nearby bar with said young men.
10.30pm: Laura and I are aghast to discover they are just 21 and still live with their parents.
11pm: Laura and I have a tequila and decide to relive our youth vicariously through them.
11.30pm: I am waltzed around a kebab shop, ending in a heap on the floor.
12am: We hail a cab to one of the boy’s houses (or rather parent’s house).
12.30am: Boy breaks out vinyl collection and presence of Leanord Cohen album convinces me he is wise and mature beyond his years…
1am: …he may even be my soul mate.
2am: Laura passes out in the spare room after exhausting game of charades.
2.30am: Boy number two goes home, leaving me and boy number one to discuss the merits of Neil Young’s back catalogue.
3am: Boy tells me I am pretty.
3.15am: I’m pretty sure you can guess.
…
8.30am: “Oh holy crap, I start work in an hour and I have no idea where I am!”

I’ve decided celibacy is like dieting - as soon as you decide to stop indulging, you want to stuff your face with cake constantly.