Friday March 30 - Black Is The New Crack

My name's Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been two months, 29 days and 17 hours since my last drink.

Two more nights in the pub this week, and still no booze.

I am, however, getting quite concerned about the effects of too much blackcurrant cordial.

I drank about three pints of it while watching England v Andorra on Wednesday night, and was buzzing all night. I couldn't even sleep, despite the England team's best efforts to send the nation into a coma.

Watched the match at a pub called The Vines, on Smithdown Road, which is OK but just that bit rougher than my usual haunts. It was by no means unfriendly, but the gentrificometer reading (which is calculated according to the ratio of natural to man-made fibres, aka 'the linen trouser count') did plummet.

Maybe it's my own snobbery, but the less salubrious a joint is, the less comfortable I feel about my teetotalitarianism. Particularly when my drink of choice is a big glass of purple fizz, with a stirrer and a straw.

The Vines was certainly not used to non-drinkers. I asked for a soda and black, and the barman merrily poured me a cider and black. I did not notice but, rather worryingly, my mate Jimmy watched him do it and simply assumed that not only was I about to break my solemn vow of sobriety, but I was going to do so with a drink favoured by teenage girls.

Anyway, the following night I went for a quick drink after work with Graham. We went to the Tavern (I'm boycotting the Penny Lane Wine Bar due to their inflated blackcurrant prices - how dare they profiteer from my addiction?) and I found myself getting quite tetchy at the bar while waiting for the sweet hit of blackcurrant. Like a user waiting for his next hit.

No wonder those Ribena berries always look like they are having such a good time - they're off their faces.

Oh well. At least coming off the cordial will give me a good project for 2008.