Tuesday June 5 - From Walsall to Wales

My name's Will and I'm a social alcoholic. It's been five months, four days and 22 hours since my last drink.

Some people are born to achieve great and notable things. I may not have climbed Everest, or split the atom, or lifted the European Cup. But I doubt there's many people out there who can look up from their deathbed and genuinely claim: "I once spent an entire night in the Chicago Rock Cafe in Walsall and didn't touch a drop."

The Chicago Rock Cafe (or CRoC, for short) was the venue for my mum-in-law's surprise 50th birthday party on Saturday. It actually turned out to be a fun night, but there were a few moments when I feared a relapse.

The day didn't get off to the best start, perhaps because I spent most of it inside a sweltering car for a cake-related magical mystery tour of the Midlands. (Theoretical question: you plan to visit your parents in Solihull and have a choice of where to pick up a fancy birthday cake - the shop in Solihull or the depot on some godforsaken industrial estate 10 miles away in Kings Norton - which do you pick? The shop in Solihull? You'd think so, wouldn't you...)

Gem and I were then tasked with the slightly stressful job of getting Ann, my mum-in-law, to the CRoC without arousing her suspicion or letting her walk past CRoC's glass atrium in which her family and friends were waiting to surprise her. This went fairly smoothly, and involved just a few unlikely boasts on my part. "Oh, yeah, I used to come to Walsall all the time as a kid. I seem to remember you can park just behind this brand new Morrison's supermarket. Hang on, don't walk that way, we need to go the long way round as I've also miraculously remembered there's a Bank of Scotland cash machine on the corner..."

Once inside, I really felt that I deserved a drink. Fortunately, my default setting is now so firmly switched to non-drinking that I queued at the bar and obediently ordered a Coke - only feeling the need for something stronger when two of the local "ladies" tried to sweet talk me into letting them into our VIP section. Seriously, they looked like Hobbits, no doubt complete with hairy feet. And they sounded like...well, like those annoying people who try to be funny by doing absurdly exaggerated impressions of thick Brummies. We wonna be togevva...

To be fair, the CRoC did turn out to be a good venue. Yes, there were a lot of straining beer guts, and hairy bum cleavage, and moustaches, and forearms stained by fading tattoos. And, no, the men weren't much better. But it was fun and friendly (only one of the men in our party was greeted in the toilets with that traditional Walsall war cry: "Ey, mate, are yow Wolves?") and we had a good time.

On Sunday we had a barbecue at Gem's parents' house in Tividale. Again, in a previous life I'd have felt that no BBQ could be complete without an ice-cold lager, but I'm getting so used to this sobriety lark that I went tee-total without a second thought. The only time I really needed the ice-cold tinnie was to hold against the back of my neck, which by the end of the day had turned lobster red as I hunched over the barbie.

I got back to the Pool with time to go for a few jars with Gary, Gregg and Graham at the Penny Lane Wine Bar. It's been a while since I went there, and regular readers of this blog may be interested to learn that a pint of soda and black is no longer £1.50. No, the glorified glass of squash now costs £1.70. I've said it before and I'll say it again. The dirty, robbin, bastards.

Then, on Monday, I started my new job at the Daily Post Wales. It's been pretty good so far, albeit a slightly strange experience to spend the WHOLE day working, with absolutely no chance to surf the net/write my blog/generally arse about.

As a result, I'm totally knackered and not even tempted to drink at present.

That said, I can already tell that this job will be far more of an emotional rollercoaster than PA - with greater highs and lows. And we all know that emotional rollercoasters make you want to drink. That's why Alton Towers called theirs The Corkscrew.

I can well see myself fancying a bucket of beer come Friday.