I have no vices left. I don't gamble, smoke, take snuff, dog around after women or burn down churches. I don't over eat or over spend and, with the gentle purr of my mother-in-law's snoring wafting in from the living room, I haven't even had a wank for a while.
Matt Talbot, an ex-alcoholic found dead in a Dublin street in 1925, is being offered up for sainthood. As far as i can tell this is for two reasons: he stopped drinking and after he died they found that his body was bound with heavy chains; his way of mortifying the flesh, a lovely old Catholic custom.
As far as i can see I'm an anklet away from sainthood.
My mother, incidentally, is advocating the sainthood of Matt Talbot and has professed an interest in Kelly being Matt's first miracle. ( you need three, in case the first couple are just fluke miracles) Why she would want the sponsorship of the patron of alcoholics and self-harmers I don't know.
But hell, we'll take what we can get. And we do, regularly.