Tuesday April 17 - And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I'm going to give up drink for a year'

My name's Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been three months, 16 days and 19 hours since my last drink.

I think it's safe to say I have entered a doldrums phase of this project. I've been dry long enough for the novelty to wear off, but not long enough for the end to be even remotely in site.

Yes, I'm still having fun and keeping busy, but the lack of alcohol is becoming frustrating.

At Ladies' Day, for example, I didn't want to get smashed, but would one cleansing ale have been so bad? Even the plain-clothed coppers were having a pint, for God's sake.

That night, Tam and Jimmy came to tea and I was again struck by the stupidity of not allowing myself a few snifters at the end of a hard working week. Well, two days in the office and two days prancing around Aintree, losing money and writing about Coleen McLoughlin's earth-shattering decision not to wear a hat. I was still thirsty, OK.

The rest of the weekend was also jam-packed with gilt-edged opportunities to drink, all of which I had to turn down.

Time: Saturday morning.
Occasion: Golf with Don in Solihull, followed by lunch at the Colebrook.
Drink wanted: Ice cold lager.
Drink got: Britvic 55.

Time: Saturday afternoon.
Occasion: Basking in sunshine outside the Adam and Eve before watching Blues v Southampton.
Drink wanted: Nourishing Guinness.
Drink got: Water.

Time: Saturday evening.
Occasion: Barbecue at Tam and Jimmy's.
Drink wanted: Beer, wine, spirits. Anything, really.
Drink got: Non-alcoholic lager, tea.

Time: Sunday morning.
Occasion: Golf with Gregg and Cardy in Allerton. Round the 9-hole in 43 (PB).
Drink wanted: Champagne!
Drink got: Orange squash.

Time: Sunday afternoon.
Occasion: Curtain shopping in town with Gem.
Drink wanted: Gin, Absinthe, Methadone. Anything to end the pain.
Drink got: Nowt.

Even my one chance to enjoy booze vicariously was shattered. Graham asked me to purchase some drink for him as I was nipping to Tesco before Tam and Jimmy's do. For the first time in 2007, here was my chance to peruse the booze aisle and select a purchase. Who cares if it was for someone else? At least I would feel the comforting weight of a case of lager in my hands - the muffled clink of glass giving just a hint of the treasure that lies within that virginal box. Perhaps Graham would even let me rip off the perforated cardboard panel to reveal the joy that lies within.

And what delight did he ask me to get him? Eight cans of Carlsberg. Or Fosters.

I could give up booze for five years and still not be excited at the thought of eight cans of that piss. Bloody Philistine doesn't know he's born.

Thankfully, the good weather seems to have turned and people appear to be back in work mode this week, so the drinking opportunities dried up on Monday and today.

Tomorrow we're having dinner at Helen and Adam's house. Adam is no longer a sales rep for a beer company, but I wouldn't put it past him to have a good stock left over. The challenges are everywhere.

This was a stupid idea.