Saturday January 5 - Dude, where's my wagon?

My name's Will and I'm definitely still a social alcoholic. I'm drinking while I write this.

So I was going to finish this blog on that last post. I thought it was short, sweet and enigmatic. Several friends, however, told me it was just a bit...well, a bit shit.

They said I owed it to those regular readers who have put up with 12 months of my bleating to at least give a proper account of my Big Moment, and what it feels like to drink again after such a long time.

Well, the Big Moment was, er, a bit of an anti-climax. But then aren't all New Year parties?

Yes, we had a good time. The Egyptian-themed murder mystery thing was good clean fun - if a little borderline racist at times - and it definitely served to take my mind off the looming midnight hour.

However, it's probably worth noting that the whole North African theme malarkey very nearly ruined my Big Moment altogether. I'm not sure how much detail you want on this, but let's just say I'd laid out some delicious Moroccan dates for guests to nibble on before dinner. And let's just say I enjoyed quite a few myself. And let's just say they can go through one's system quite quickly. And let's just say it ain't that easy to go for a quick Eartha when you're wearing pants, shorts and a bedsheet fastened with several safety pins and some gaffer tape.

I was still trying to get dressed when I heard the first of the New Year fireworks go off outside. This panicked me but I managed to race downstairs and I even got the top off a champagne bottle before Big Ben rang out.

I was all set to start drinking then but Gary insisted it wasn't officially 2008 until the twelfth bong had sounded. I didn't think he was right then, and I don't think he's right now, but I sure as hell wasn't prepared to risk 12 months of social isolation for the sake of 30 seconds, so I held off.

Finally, after waiting for those interminal bells to ring out, I put the flute to my lips and took a long sip of chilled champagne. And it tasted like piss.

"This tastes like piss," I said.

"Aha," replied at least three of my guests in unison. "That's because you aren't used to the taste."

"No," I parried. "It's because it tastes like piss. Try some yourself."

"Yup," they conceded. "That does taste like piss. But down it anyway! Down it! Down it! Down it!"

Reader, I downed it.

Thankfully, the rest of that bottle had already been poured out, so I opened a new one all to myself. And that one didn't taste like piss at all. That one tasted like heaven.

I saw it off within about half an hour. People had warned me that a whole bottle would knock me out after such a long period of abstinence but I can honestly say I didn't feel anything more than a warm glow inside and a slightly fuzzy head. It was, I have to say, just lovely.

After the champers I drank about five bottles of Kronenburg, and went to bed at around 3.30am. I awoke at 9am, feeling hot and dehydrated. A bit like Egypt, ironically enough.

Throughout the day I was increasingly visited by that old drinking pal, The Fear, and by about 4pm I was feeling the back-to-school gloom. It struck me that January 1st is just an utter waste of a Bank Holiday. It is good for nothing but sitting under a duvet, watching all those DVDs you got for Christmas, and feeling bloated. So I did.

What lifted my mood, however, was two glasses of red wine at around 7pm. It was only the dregs of two bottles left over from the previous night but, my God, I savoured it like it was that 1961 Cheval Blanc from the film Sideways. It was a celestial moment and it remains my favourite back-to-booze experience so far.

On Wednesday I was truly tempted to go for a post-work pint but managed to resist, on the basis that I would be probably be drinking on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday as well. Other than that brief moment of sense, I have to confess that I have otherwise reverted to my old habits.

On Thursday I met Duncan in the Penny Lane Wine Bar, had two pints of Guinness and then a curry washed down by three pints of Kingfisher. Not exactly the mother of all binges, but when I awoke at 4am with a dry mouth, pounding head and racing heart I remembered exactly why I went on the wagon.

After feeling sluggish and tired throughout Friday, the sensible option would have been to go home for a quiet night in. Instead I went out with Graham for "two pints, maybe three, but I'll definitely be home by 9pm." I got home at 12.30am, feeling tired, emotional and very well-refreshed following a mini bar crawl to the Penny Lane Wine Bar, the Little Tavern, Mustard, back to the Tavern, and then a nightcap at our mate John's house.

And so for the second day in a row - and the third out of five - I awoke this morning feeling like dessicated shit.

All of my high hopes and hubris - "I'll definitely drink less because this year has taught me about when I need to drink and when I'm just drinking for the sake of it" - seem washed away on a tide of strong lager and red wine.

I sincerely hope it's just a bit of first week madness, but it has reminded me just how easy it is to fall into the ways of the social alkie.

Oh well, at least I haven't gone out boozing tonight. Just stayed in and had a couple of glasses of red. Just to take the edge of, you understand...