In case you were wondering about the progress on my teetotaller’s bingo card, here it is. Because I’ve hardly given drinking so much as a passing thought, I have neglected to include it on the last few entries. The only reason for including it here is because today has been a bit more challenging. It seems like almost everyone has a good old glug on a Saturday night, and this has indeed been my own regular behavioural pattern for quite some time. I opted to keep away from pubs (I usually consider pubs to be the best places in the world, but if you’re not drinking, the thought of going just seems like some sort cruel self-flagellation). Of course some people will argue that the main point of pubs is the social angle, but bollocks to that – when you’re a fully fledged misanthropist like me, what’s the point? Only the soothing, escapist qualities of alcohol from this prolonged wail of despair we call life, holds any sort of appeal (since I am financially secure, with no health worries living in a crime-free suburban village with no poverty or violent oppression to worry about, I am only joshing when I say this. To a certain extent).
To console my longing, I treated myself to an Indian takeaway for tea. Unfortunately, my irritable bowel seems to have taken exception to it, which ironically means I have all the intestinal turmoil of a heavy drinking session without any of the fun. More proof that if there is a God, he is a vengeful entity who punishes, rather than rewards our good intent. He is a grander equivalent of an abusive spouse in a rather hammy soap-opera, punching you in the face whenever you try to be a better person. Who would want to praise someone so fundamentally spiteful? Like all evil soap-opera characters, he is a pantomime baddy in the making, and far from being celebrated, it seems more appropriate we greet him with a chorus of boos and hisses every Christmas.
Once again, I feel obliged to stress that I’m only exaggerating my alcoholic plight for tragicomic effect. But there was one very genuine moment today, when I was suddenly consumed by a striking desire to sit in the warm evening sun, on a pub patio with an icy cold pint of lager. And when I remembered I was on the wagon, I did feel a rather abrupt pang of remorse. I must also confess at this point, to briefly considering whether it would technically be cheating to get myself a few consolatory cans of Kaliber or Shandy Bass (you must understand, it was the idea of that lagery taste that I currently craved, not loss of sobriety). I had no idea what my policy on Kaliber was, mainly because I had not covered this in my list stipulations before I set out on this epic battle of abstinence. Do these drinks contain traces of alcohol, thereby still being technically potential classed alcohol consumption? Would it somehow be tainting my achievements to indulge; undermining the point of this exercise, by maintaining a kind of behavioural crutch by association? Does it show a stronger will to go ‘cold turkey’ on all beer-based drinks altogether? Or was it just abstinence from the effects of intoxication that was important? Clearly I had been hoisted by my own lack of preparation when setting my initial targets and motivations. What I really needed was some sort of independent adjudicator to set the rules for me. So I headed round to the bookshop to see my mate Al. But when I explained my plight to him, he merely shook his head, like a disapproving father who had inadvertently stumbled upon his son’s stash of granny-porn. From one simple “he’s a lost cause” type of look in his eye, I realised what a desperate and pathetic character I had become. After all, I was CONSIDERING BUYING KALIBER - an appallingly low act in itself, irrespective of any dubious motivations behind it.
So thankfully I resisted, and can cross off another day of my progress chart with an untainted conscience. And although I may have conjured an exaggerated version of my dependence for the purposes of this entry, I still can’t help feeling genuinely chuffed to have resisted those fleeting lures of temptation.
To console my longing, I treated myself to an Indian takeaway for tea. Unfortunately, my irritable bowel seems to have taken exception to it, which ironically means I have all the intestinal turmoil of a heavy drinking session without any of the fun. More proof that if there is a God, he is a vengeful entity who punishes, rather than rewards our good intent. He is a grander equivalent of an abusive spouse in a rather hammy soap-opera, punching you in the face whenever you try to be a better person. Who would want to praise someone so fundamentally spiteful? Like all evil soap-opera characters, he is a pantomime baddy in the making, and far from being celebrated, it seems more appropriate we greet him with a chorus of boos and hisses every Christmas.
Once again, I feel obliged to stress that I’m only exaggerating my alcoholic plight for tragicomic effect. But there was one very genuine moment today, when I was suddenly consumed by a striking desire to sit in the warm evening sun, on a pub patio with an icy cold pint of lager. And when I remembered I was on the wagon, I did feel a rather abrupt pang of remorse. I must also confess at this point, to briefly considering whether it would technically be cheating to get myself a few consolatory cans of Kaliber or Shandy Bass (you must understand, it was the idea of that lagery taste that I currently craved, not loss of sobriety). I had no idea what my policy on Kaliber was, mainly because I had not covered this in my list stipulations before I set out on this epic battle of abstinence. Do these drinks contain traces of alcohol, thereby still being technically potential classed alcohol consumption? Would it somehow be tainting my achievements to indulge; undermining the point of this exercise, by maintaining a kind of behavioural crutch by association? Does it show a stronger will to go ‘cold turkey’ on all beer-based drinks altogether? Or was it just abstinence from the effects of intoxication that was important? Clearly I had been hoisted by my own lack of preparation when setting my initial targets and motivations. What I really needed was some sort of independent adjudicator to set the rules for me. So I headed round to the bookshop to see my mate Al. But when I explained my plight to him, he merely shook his head, like a disapproving father who had inadvertently stumbled upon his son’s stash of granny-porn. From one simple “he’s a lost cause” type of look in his eye, I realised what a desperate and pathetic character I had become. After all, I was CONSIDERING BUYING KALIBER - an appallingly low act in itself, irrespective of any dubious motivations behind it.
So thankfully I resisted, and can cross off another day of my progress chart with an untainted conscience. And although I may have conjured an exaggerated version of my dependence for the purposes of this entry, I still can’t help feeling genuinely chuffed to have resisted those fleeting lures of temptation.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for the stash of crack cocaine stuffed under my pillow, I don’t know how I’d have got through it.
