For the rest of my time, I will remember the exact stretch of woodland I was in as the origin of this post was forming. Across the stream, a break in the trees opens onto a miry marshland where a Golden Retriever, tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth, is doing his upmost to find the muddiest patches. At that moment, I was mentally writing a post in my head about alcoholism. After weeks of hearing no words to write, finally the thoughts were coming in relation to my own Dry January, which lasted just a fortnight. Mostly the thoughts would have been an unintended sequel to this post from 2016 . I wanted to confront myself about my relationship with drink during lockdown and how an interest and hobby can cross over to something much more dangerous without realisation. Little did I know, as I mentally formed the words in my head between the occasional calls to my dog, that my phone was ringing in my pocket to allay me with news that would be much more significant.