I’m 25 days into Dryathlon, no booze and in my case, no Energy drinks because I’ve been wanting to shake that particular monkey off my back for some time. I thought hey, in for a penny, in for a pound, so there I am.

PLEASE DONATE, just £2.50 is the cost of a pint, £1.80 if you were in the Bar I walked past last night proudly telling the world they had the Cheapest fosters in Leeds. So, buy us a drink, in the worlds most metaphorical sense, by clicking Here.

Last night I went to see Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip at the Leeds University Stylus bar.

This was an absolutely fantastic performance,  utterly fantastic with great support from Itch and his weird DJ friend, the child prodigy Screwface, with a big crying baby head that gave the woman wired on Ecstasy next to me the WEIRDEST FUCKING TRIP OF HER LIFE. I like to imagine it was her first time, and now she’s a straight edge nun after seeing this fucker on stage whilst no one payed him any attention.

But yes, This was probably my first gig in a decade (Maybe) where I didn’t have one drink. Its such a weird experience because, well I was, really overly aware of myself. When I was rocking out, which took some time getting into because I was afraid of looking like a fool in front of everyone (unaware that everyone else didn’t give a shit because they’d come to see the band not to look at me) I became really aware of my FACE!

What is a good facial expression to hold when rocking out? I dunno, eventually, I just went with what seemed natural, but until then I was obsessed with not making some goddamn horrid face. Then again, the above THING (sic: abomination) was on stage for a bit as well, so I think I could have done what I liked.

The other one was that I stunk. Everyone stunk. After about a half hour of solid rowdy behavior even the most satin perfect pop-prince smelt like a pro-athlete fresh from the field. I had to get over my self-consciousness about being a mammal who sweats, and has arm pits and that everyone in that room was a mammal who had arm pits.

In the end though, I realised I shouldn’t give a fuck and just danced and pulled whatever face I felt like and gave up all sense of self in a big crowd of dancing people. Because thats what you’ve got to do isn’t it, just surrender yourself to the situation. Sayu “When in Rome” and rip off your T-shirt… If you want. I mean, there was one girl who bared her bra, but no one wants to see my Saggy tits?

EVEN THOUGH, there are less tits (is less tits? Are less tittage?) than there was before I started this. I’m shedding about five pounds a week, not including the weight I put back on eating a pizza every now and then, but quitting beer has meant quitting the belly. Which is a bonus, I’m sure we can all agree on.

Anyway, this is just a quick on, hopefully showing the sort of terrible position I’ve put myself in this month being a man so self concious he can barely talk to people in a social situation without a beer. Thats right, I’ve been forced to behave LIKE ordinary people, not an over-than-average introverted pleb who compensates with alcohol and shouting.

So please Give, if not for me, than for Charity. Cancer is a bitch, FUCK CANCER YO!