Dry January- Part Four

This is a continuation post on dry January. For previous entries, have a click of these – part one part two part three.

So, January has come to an end, and I’ve only had one set back (and four panic attacks) in my attempt to stay sober. It’s been a fairly eye-opening experience for me – it’s only been one month, so I’m not going to get carried away and say I’m going to start harvesting all of my electricity from potatoes and collecting water from condensation from leaves, but I would say that the break in routine has been beneficial for the most part.

Unlike previous entries, I’m not going to talk about how my weekend went at great length, as I locked myself away; partly because I didn’t have any plans, and partly to keep any last-minute temptation at bay. Instead, I’m gonna talk about my thoughts on this as a whole.

Within the first couple of weeks of the month, I did notice my sleeping pattern had gone haywire. It’s a fairly well-known fact that alcohol disrupts sleep, but I took this information with a pinch of salt, and it’s only in hindsight that I’m making the connection between going dry and surviving on maybe two hours’ sleep each night. I don’t think getting wasted would have changed this though, and I feel like I’ve regained my sanity in this past week.

Part of the reason why I am doing this (and why it is quite a big thing for me) is that for the past couple of years, I have rarely let a weekend go by where I haven’t gone out and ended up inebriated to some extent. This has made for some good and bad memories, although my recollection of some nights have  been like losing a set of keys in the sea. While I’m not complaining about having a fairly active social life, I’ve woken up one too many times over the past few months, thinking “what the hell did I do last night?”, and the hangover shame that I mentioned in my first post was becoming too much of a regular occurrence.

When I was asked if I wanted to take part in dry January, my mind instantly went to any social events that I had coming up, and how I would cope with not drinking. If I’m honest, I was dreading it initially, but there were a few signs telling me that I should cut back, and if they weren’t enough to twist my arm, then the idea of going paintballing as a reward sealed the deal.

One of the best things about this experience has been severing the connection between getting drunk and having a good time – while I was a little bit tense while I was out, once I settled into a groove, I was happy to spend the rest of the night sober as a judge. Now that I’ve seen the benefits of going on hiatus from drinking, it might not be as big a part of my life as it was this time last year.

As I mentioned in my last post, my skin is also healthier – here’s a comparison:

This picture was taken a couple of weeks before Christmas. Notice the slightly glassy look in my eye, the redness of my face, and the pint of beer that is clearly in my hand. Not making any excuses here, but in the few days leading up to this picture, my eczema had flared up, and I had also gone out the previous night, so this may not be the best picture. The flare up was exacerbated by the drinking, of course, which was killing my self-esteem. Now, here’s a photo from yesterday-

Maybe this picture is taken at a better angle, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t have a turkey on my head, but without sounding like I’m blowing my own trumpet, I think that this is a slightly more flattering picture. For a start, my face is far less ‘warm’ looking, which means no longer have to lie to people that I’m sunburnt (very difficult to pull off in the middle of winter), and I don’t look quite so fatigued. Try to ignore the fact that the bottom half of my face is cautiously optimistic, while the top half of my face is worried that someone close to me has died. This is my go-to expression in pictures because if I feign a genuine look of joy, people might get their hopes up and think I’m a normal person.

So while I’m not promising to go teetotal (my best mate has actually been planning how badly he can ruin my liver this weekend), I have enjoyed the health benefits (both mentally and physically), and the financial benefits of not being such a wreck head. It all boils down to moderation; drinking is something that can be enjoyed, but if you let it control you, it can be an ugly thing.

While I wouldn’t say I was at rock bottom by any means, the fact that I was basing nearly all of my social interactions around drinking was beginning to do more harm than good. If that sounds familiar to anyone reading this, I would recommend at least considering going sober for a while. I know that sounds a bit preachy, and I don’t blame anyone for scoffing at the idea, but for me, the benefits have far outweighed the negatives.

Dry January- Part Three

(This is a four part series on dry January; if you want to see how it’s gone so far, click here, and here)

So…I drank alcohol. And it’s still January. I could just end this entry here, but that would be kind of lazy, and I feel that I should justify why I fell off the wagon.

Night nffsnfnb?- Saturday, 21st January

I felt good about getting over the hump, and under different circumstances, I think I would have probably would have stuck it out, whatever plans I made over the weekend. This changed when a friend, who I haven’t seen in over a year, was visiting for one weekend only. I knew this was coming, as the plan was actually made the day after I agreed to go sober for this month. I know – great timing.

I can’t pretend that any drunken guilt I felt stopped me from having a good night though; it was great to catch up with my mate, and I would imagine that it would have been fun whether I was sober or not. Despite my best intentions to stay away from the sauce, my willpower crumbled fairly rapidly, as the playlist of the night was fifteen second snippets of early 00s pop songs, and various people going “WOOOOO” at the top of their lungs. You gotta have some kind of special potion to get through that shit. A few immediate downsides to the night-

1. On Sunday, I was so hungover that all I wanted to do was throw up, and sleep. Not sure if it’s just because it’s been a while since I’ve had a hangover, or if it was the Long Island ice tea punishing me. Probably a bit of both.
2. I have no idea how much I spent, and I’m still too scared to check. This probably tells me that I spent too much.

In my previous post, I mentioned that it was nice to be in control of my actions throughout the entire night, and while I don’t think I did anything too stupid, I had crossed a line by the end of the night where nothing I said made any real sense to anyone apart from me. Actually, I tell a lie – nothing I said made any real sense to anyone, including me. But, a few of my other friends slipped up on their dry January challenge too, and while I don’t believe I was influenced by this (I found out the next day), I don’t feel so bad about getting shithoused.

When it comes to writing about failure, it’s difficult to emphasise the importance of the challenge you are trying to undertake, without sounding like you are fishing for sympathy. Up until the last paragraph, I deliberately stayed away from the ‘F’ word for that reason; I don’t really see this weekend as a failure, more just a setback. While that sounds like denial or something I read on a motivational poster (it probably is), I’m choosing to see it that way because if I see it in a negative light, I would think that the challenge is as good as over.

If willpower alone isn’t enough to pull me over the finish line, I can’t pretend that I haven’t noticed the health benefits. The fact that I’ve lost about half a stone in weight is something I’m pretty happy with – I wasn’t too worried about my weight before this, but at times I felt a bit doughy and bloated, and I think drinking played a part in that. My skin is also a lot clearer, which is quite a big thing for me, so this is a good incentive for me to change my attitude towards drinking in the long run.

One step at a time though; breaking a habit that has been learned over time, and reinforced by British culture, isn’t gonna happen by magic. Speaking of one step at a time, I have five days to go before I am allowed to have a guilt-free pint. I probably won’t get completely smashed on the first day of February, but the jury is still out on that one.

Dry January – Part Two

(This is part of a four-part series about my dry January experience. Click here for my previous entry.)

The wonderment and experience of going out on a Saturday night has been a source of inspiration for artists for decades; from Elton John, to that guy who wrote the song that goes “Get down it’s Saturday night” over a funky beat*. It’s pretty much a universal fact (backed up by many well known publications) that Saturday night is the time to cut loose and focus purely on having a good time. So in keeping with the theme, this post is going to be about my Friday night out on the town.

Night two – Friday, January 13^th

In the grand scheme of things, two weeks sober isn’t a big deal, but before starting this, I thought that it would get easier after realising that having a night out without drinking isn’t a big deal. If anything, the second night was more difficult, but for different reasons.

The venue for the night was my old student union bar at Kingston University, which wouldn’t be my first choice for a night out, but our friend’s band ** were playing at a ‘loan drop’ party, meaning that by the time the band finished their first set, there would be at least three people on the verge of alcohol poisoning. Part of the reason why I was slightly more apprehensive about tonight, compared to last week, was because my friends and I had arranged the night about two weeks beforehand, whereas last weekend’s antics were fairly impromptu. This gave me a chance to over think (as I always do) the fact that I would be the only sober person amongst a crowd of drunk people, most of whom are at least four years younger than me.

Luckily, I had a group of people my own age, and a sober friend with me, and as I mentioned in my previous entry, the morale support was partly what kept me away from the booze. As I was pounding small glasses of tonic water, the band tore through a set of blazing renditions of pop and soul songs, both new and old, and while i get a bit of a bee in my bonnet when an event at a bar or club is referred to as a ‘party’, there was a real party atmosphere to the room.

It may be a bit over dramatic to say that disaster struck, but half way through the night, as I was getting another drink at the bar, I came so close to giving into temptation that I actually asked for a gin and tonic, but then changed my mind and asked them to hold the gin. I think the reason behind the near slip was because I wanted to lose my inhibitions somewhat, but part of this exercise is to learn to have a good time without getting drunk. Shortly after this happened, I realised that if you are trying to stay away from alcohol while still maintaining an active social life, something strange happens after the halfway mark of a night out – the idea of having a drink seems kind of pointless, as you’ll either A) end up staying out way later than you intend to, B) be playing catch up with your friends, C) spend money unnecessarily – or some combination of these three.

The only other lapse in willpower was at the end of the night; as the band had finished playing and packed up, they all had a pint – for some reason, I was tempted to get one, but was lured away. Probably for the best, as again, it would have been pointless. I managed to jump in a cab with some friends, and the feeling of being in complete control on the night tube was quite nice, and I was reassured that I had done the right thing by the sight of two fully grown men, sat on the platform at Tottenham Court Road, throwing popcorn at the floor in a drunken stupor. Before it sounds like I am getting on a high horse, one confession that I feel I should make is that I smoked throughout the night, which is rather out of character for me, as I only smoke while drunk or immensely hungover. Guess it’s a way of swapping once vice for another, and something I would hopefully not do again.

Aftermath

Having got home at around about 2.30am, I won’t say what time I woke up on Saturday, partly due to shame, but I’ll let you try to work out when I finally arose from the land of the dead. One clue that you can go on is that when I said that I “woke up on Saturday”, I didn’t say “Saturday morning”.

Aside from the late start, I felt fresh, and, as one of the people in this video mentions, a hangover free weekend feels so much longer. I could get up early and get twice as many things done than I would have if I had got smashed the previous night, without having to worry about being so hungover that I want to vomit and nap at the same time. Having said that, there is something of a guilty pleasure about having a hangover nap – It kind of feels like hitting a reset button on a malfunctioning machine. But, it’s not called a guilty pleasure for no reason, as I tend to feel like I’ve wasted a valuable part of the day by taking a power nap.

As for what I actually did last night (it would be a bit unfair to begin this entry talking about Saturday night, without actually talking about what I got up to), I had a night in playing guitar (getting a beastly tone out from my underused octave pedal – that’s not a euphemism), drinking copious amounts of tea, and binge watching a show on Netflix. I may write a review of said show later this week, so I won’t say what it is yet, but I’ll give you a rather nonsensical clue – the title rhymes with “Smirk Bentley’s Ballistic Defective Inter-agency”.

* I found out the song is called ‘Get Down Saturday Night’, by Oliver Cheatham. Thanks, google.

** The band are called Eddy Smith and the 507 . Go check them out – I cannot be held responsible if you literally shake your ass off to their music.

Dry January: Part one

An actual picture from New Year’s eve, 2016/17

Dry January! Yes, in years gone by, I always thought that this was an excuse for self righteous arseholes to look down on people, as they desperately try to fill the void in their soul with quinoa and carrot juice. But this year, either in an act of hypocrisy, or perhaps maturity (I haven’t decided which one yet – could be both), I have decided to take on the challenge of going sober for a month, following the festive blowout of December. This will be especially difficult, considering the unrelenting horror show that was most of 2016.

(This is going to be a four part post, which will be updated each week, as I usually make weekend plans with friends that would probably involve having at least a couple of drinks. I was going to go into a little bit more detail in this first post about why I’m doing this, but I’m going to save it until the end – partly to save me eating humble pie if I fall off the wagon, and also so that people follow this to the last post, obviously. Also, there will be no more talk of superfoods or disgusting blended vegetable drinks from here on in.)

There’s a saying that goes “no man walks alone”, and while I am cringing slightly that I used that quote, I believe that it applies nicely to this scenario. I’ve gone in on this after making a pact with a couple of friends (who, admittedly, don’t drink as much as I do), and as an incentive, we’ve decided to put part of the money saved towards a paintballing trip. For anyone thinking about laying off the booze for a while, I would recommend roping some mates in for some morale support. Again, I say all of this that with limited certainty, because at the time of writing, I am just over one week in, so this could all be in vain.

So, introduction done, here’s how it’s gone so far –

Night one- Saturday, January 7^th

Before heading out for the night, a few thoughts passed through my head – What if I didn’t have fun? What if I felt left out while everyone was getting drunk? What if I ordered a pint as soon as I got to the bar, just out of habit? All of these thoughts were clearly products of anxiety, but I was worried that I would either cave after one week, or have the most boring night ever. After a few muddled changes of plan, I went to see a band at a bar in Soho, via Brixton (I don’t really live anywhere near Brixton – like I said, plans were muddled) with a few friends.

As soon as we entered the venue, I noticed how loud the band were, and while I tend to go to gigs fairly regularly, I find it annoying when a pub band are so loud that you can’t even hear what someone is saying to you if they are shouting at the top of their lungs. I’m not sure if I would have been too bothered by this if I’d had a few beers beforehand, and I would be lying if I wasn’t tempted to have one just to loosen up a bit – an urge that was difficult to resist, considering I was offered a drink several times.

While I don’t drive (something I will learn to do at some point between now and the day I die), I tried to behave as I imagine I would have done if had to drive home. I’m surprised how well this worked, considering A) anyone who drives to Central London on a Saturday night is either a cab driver, or an idiot, and B) again, I don’t drive – no amount of mind tricks would change that fact for now. I held out though, and managed to politely decline any beers offered to me, instead, opting for lemonade.

Despite my earlier complaints about how loud the music was, I enjoyed the band’s performance, and there was a bouncy, energetic buzz in the room, but shortly after they wrapped up their set, we decided it was time to make like Ned Stark, and head off*.

Onto the next bar, and I was slightly relieved that we may have been going somewhere a little more quiet so that we could have a conversation, but the optimism was misplaced, as the next venue was a busy, loud cocktail bar. At this point, you might think that I was having the worst night out of my life, but it was far from it – even if I’ve had a few shandies, it takes me a little while to loosen up, and tonight was no different. It may have been the result of getting a sugar rush, or maybe I had made peace with the fact that I would have to shout in order to be heard, but eventually, I found myself acting almost as animated as I would have been on any other night out. It’s quite rare that I get to say this, but I am aware of exactly how much shit I was talking, and was fully in control of my actions. No Regrets.

I’m not sure what time my friends left, but I decided to call it a night before they did, and as I was saying my goodbyes, I realised just how completely shithoused they were. While I can’t say I was jealous of them, I didn’t feel like I was above them either; the simple fact was they were drunk and I wasn’t. I can’t end this part without giving a shout out to the bar staff for making some of the best (and possibly only) virgin mojitos I have ever tasted.

Aftermath

As expected, I woke up as fresh as I would have done any other day of the week, and while Sundays are generally a lazy day by default, it was nice to spend the day without feeling like my brain was going to implode. Another feeling I didn’t miss was the existential hangover dread. This is something that hits different people at different stages in their life – for a lucky few, it may never happen (I haven’t spoken to every single living person who has had a hangover, so cannot confirm that), but most of my friends have experienced it, and I know I certainly have.

Another massive positive – I probably spent less than half as much as I would have done if I had been on the sauce, considering cocktail bars are usually black holes for hard earned cash, regardless of the quality of the actual drinks (and at this particular venue**, they did look incredible). So I’m pleased to say that it’s been a good start, and will (hopefully) have some stuff to report back with at around about the same time next week.

*I would apologise for Game of Thrones spoilers, but it’s Sean Bean. You know how that shit’s gonna turn out.

**For anyone curious, the cocktail bar we ended up at was Soho based El Camion. While I wasn’t exactly adventurous with my drink choices on this occasion, I would definitely come back to try an espresso martini or two.