Mamma Mia, here I go again, my my, how can I resist you?

Okay, so the wholesome behaviour lasted all of five minutes. I should have thought more carefully about my outlandish promises of sobriety knowing the bank holiday weekend, and with it the surfers’ ball, was coming up.

So I did a recalculation, and decided I should probably end the summer in style, and continue to relish the fact that I have surfing competition-free weekends at the moment. So, my revised statement is as follows:

“I will continue to party until the weekend of September 27, when, overnight, I will seamlessly transform into an angel personified, with a liver to match.”

The bank holiday weekend was messy. Really messy. You see I usually have a surfing competition that weekend, so I’ve never been able to enjoy it fully.

Saturday morning I hit the gym.

Saturday evening I hit the wine.

A glass or two later and myself, Squizz and Laura had whipped ourselves into a You Tube Abba-filled frenzy, and were stomping around - complete with comedy Abba dance routines and screeching in Laura’s kitchen.

Several more glasses of wine later and we concocted what we thought was a hilarious plan.

We decided it would be hilarious to turn up at my friend Siara’s non-fancy dress birthday party, in fancy dress, feigning anger at her sister, Karly, who we would claim had told us it was fancy dress.

Luckily for us Matt seems to have a wealth of costumes, and an hour later I’m sozzled and dressed as a Thunderbird in the back of a taxi, with Laura shoving her giant cardboard Pac Man outfit in next to me, and there is a Squizz-shaped moustached pirate in the front seat.

Sunday morning comes and I hit the gym again, before me, Matt, Laura and Squizz all go for a family sojourn around Baggy Point.

Sunday night gets a bit competitive as Matt has bought a Nintendo Wii...

And then Monday was the Surfer’s Ball at the Marisco.

We drank Tequila, the rest is a bikini-clad blur.

After three days of solid partying I arrived at work on the Tuesday feeling like the Devil had ripped out my soul.

But there was to be no reprieve, as the weekend which followed was the much anticipated hen weekend in Paris of my dear friend, Karly.
We spent four days in the French capital, and I must say two days in, following a visit to EuroDisney and very civilised meal, I was beginning to think it was going to be a refreshingly tame weekend.

But you see Karly is a stealth booze hag, and I forget this.

Being an A and E nurse she portrays herself as some kind of “adult” and can pretend to be such for months on end.

However, on the second evening, and a few glasses of wine later, my disgusting mess of a friend from Thursday nights at GLT’s gone by was back, shouting and swearing on the metro like a bad Brits abroad documentary.

The third night took an even more interesting shape, as all 22 of us chicks went on a vodka pub crawl. Classy, I know, and probably not the best way to see Paris. But after the first few vodkas we couldn’t see that well anyway.

I did give myself a weekend off partying over September 6, and fully threw myself into training again, and I was feeling super strong. My back is really feeling a lot better thanks to the genius that is my sports therapist, John, from The Fitness Factory.

He has given me realistic goals and set me targets, something as a sports woman I feel I need.

Then last weekend I slightly fell off the wagon again — but not intentionally I was going to have a quiet one.

You see I managed to obtain some VIP tickets to Plymouth Argyle.

And ten minutes into the game, my mate, Georgie, appeared next to me, looking absolutely thrilled, brandishing two ciders.

And I mean thrilled, I used to live with this girl and I can honestly say I’ve never seen her look so happy in all the years I’ve known her, actually maybe once when our friend, Jo, accidentally caught fire, but that was more hysteria...

Anyway, she sat down next to me, beaming from ear to ear, and presented me with my drink, before whispering in my ear with glee: “It’s only a bloody free bar mate...”

You can imagine the rest.

Tonight I have ultrasound on my back with John, and I think, just maybe, I might be good to surf again this weekend.