My name is Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been three days, 18 hours and one minute since my last drink.
Having had the validity of my noble project questioned by one or two naysayers, allow me to get one thing straight: I know that plenty of people before me have given up drink.
I know that many women, for example, abstain for nine months of pregnancy - plus a few more to avoid lacing their breastmilk with the zesty kick of Tennants Super.
I know that people give up drinking when they fall ill or see the devastating effects of alcoholism on a loved one.
I know that some people convert to Islam. The Artist Formerly Known as Cat Stevens wrote most of his best material after three to four pints of mild, apparently, but hasn't touched a drop since becoming Yusuf Islam.
I, however, am none of the above.
I am healthy and have no fun-spoiling foetus inside me, nor am I haunted by the ghosts of pickled relatives, nor have I converted to Islam.
But don't you see? My lack of valid reason to give up booze is what makes this challenge so darned special. Point to a bulging tum or a prayer mat when you order that mineral water and society will instantly let you off the hook. Tell them you just want to dry out for a year, on the other hand, and they treat you like a paediatrician on a Portsmouth council estate.
Progress update: The Fear has now dissipated, thank God, and still no withdrawal pangs yet, as the post-Christmas penury and misery makes it easy to go straight home. I can't help but fear this is the calm before the storm, as tomorrow is Friday night, when booze is at its sweetest. Bring it on.
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4 comments:
Fancy a couple of pints later? This charade can only last so long.
Will,
They appear to be buying it. Suckers.
How we'll laugh when the publishing deal comes through and the book's on the shelves of Waterstones alongside 'Why do Penguins Have Feet?'
Until then, meet you usual time and place for a long cheeky swig of Johnny W mixed with a dash of mouthwash?
This all seems like an appalling waste to me. I've been a social alcoholic all my adult life, and look back fondly to the days when 10 pints, a few whiskies and a couple of stiff shots of Brut aftershave to round off the evening were a quiet night out...now, as I stagger towards the twilight of my drinking career, such nights have gone the way of the Party Seven and Colt 45. A good Friday night now, and Saturday is an agony almost too great to bear. These are your golden years, Will. Or your brown mixed years...don't waste them. Cross Keys later?
Thanks Will. This blog is getting me through my strange breast feeding drinking regime.It involves testing my milk, feeling guilty, drinking small amounts with dinner. Reading online about studies and all tge time blaming my habit on a hard day. I should really join you..
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