Alright, fine. I've done dry January before and largely abstained from alcohol for 8 weeks when training for a charity boxing match, so yeah. I've got this.
I would go two weeks without drinking to dispel any thought that I was dependent on alcohol. Cue self congratulations. But once a cork was popped, there was no getting the genie back into the bottle. The proverbial one drink just doesn't exist for me. The caution of remember to drink responsibly - when alcohol causes you to forget and weakens impulse control - seems a bit redundant. Once I've started, I can't stop. I've been half through a bottle of whiskey before I've realised how much has gone (or how much was left). 'Who's doing the dash?' was a regular phrase in our household.
I'm on first name terms with the guy at my local corner shop (the legend that is Ali) - we even joked he was going to get an invite to our wedding. Ali once rolled up the shutters when he saw me crouching down trying to catch his attention as metal descended over the shop front one Friday night. Go on, as it's you. I always have a chat with the family who run Wine Rack. Both have let me have a bottle of wine without paying when I've forgotten my purse. Probably because they know I will be back to pay before they close, and will no doubt grab a second bottle. And when they are closed, there was the dubious 24 hour off-licence. You usually had to swerve the odd inebriate hanging around outside ignoring the irony that, you too, are a drunk.
Honestly, it would take everything that I could muster to masquerade as a normal drinker in more restrained company. The urge to drink more even felt physical. I felt panicked if we ran out of booze. I would down drinks at closing and plan journeys home around where I can buy more. I salute if you can drink sensibly. For me, moderation was as mythical as mermaids and unicorns. It wasn't until I called time on alcohol that I discovered the magic in not being beholden by its spell.