This year, however, I am going to survive the 26 glorious days of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival completely sober.

Why? Well, as I mention in my show Rollercoaster, I had to abandon the joy juice for personal reasons. I drink too much, especially at festivals. I’m an all-or-nothing kinda gal, so this year, I’ve chosen…nothing.

It’ll be a challenge. There are a lot of comedians who do not drink; I’m just not one of them. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt bad. I’ll probably catch myself looking longingly at the beautiful window displays at Dan Murphy’s on Chapel Street (Oh, those happy, bubbly Yellowglen girls.). But I am determined to see it through. Gazing enviously at folks as they imbibe or going home early to cry, I will get through the month of April without the buffer of booze.

Melbourne International Comedy Festival is wonderful. I adore it. Would marry it, if the law and Susan Provan would allow. So, I’m quite looking forward to giving it my full, undivided attention, to wake up remembering conversations and avoiding shame spirals.

I’m wondering what it will be like to see the whole thing through without the foggy pain of hangover hell. What new friendships will grow in its absence and which long-standing ones will drop to the ground (not unlike me at the end of a big night)?

I’m just going to head off to Chapel St to weep. No serious relationship ends without a few tears.