THE SOBER DRUNK
Eating a kebab, texting an ex… booze-free. Josie Copson did it so you don’t have to
Iam always the drunk one. The one you refer to when you need to make yourself feel better about your life decisions the morning after.“Don’t feel bad about falling over because you’ll never guess what Josie did...”
Some examples of ‘what Josie did’ include: hopping into Jon Clark’s (of TOWIE fame) cab uninvited and then proceeding to stalk him inside a Chelsea nightclub; threatening bodily harm to a house party DJ because there wasn’t enough Drake on his playlist; and once, after consuming too many all-inclusive cocktails on a family holiday, passing out in a random corridor, only to be found 12 hours later by my mum and the hotel concierge. Why, oh why, do I do these things? That’s the question I ask the University of Bristol’s Professor ›
Marcus Munafo, whose speciality is alcohol (the study of it, that is, not the consumption). “It’s down to the prefrontal cortex. This is the part of the brain that is responsible for our decision-making and our social behaviour. It usually lets us know when we’re making a dangerous decision. Alcohol can make it go seriously awry.”
I tell Professor Munafo that the longest I’ve gone without a drink since I was 18 is three days. There’s a silence. “Well, Josie, even a month’s break could help to produce some healthy cells and rectify some of the damage,” he tells me.
I have considered giving it a rest many times, usually the morning after when I feel like some evil doctor has removed all the saliva from my mouth, but I’m always put off because of the social implications. The problem is, I kind of like drunk me. She’s a hoot 95% of the time. I don’t want to be the bore that no one wants on their night out. So now I’m taking on a new kind of health challenge – I will go sober but continue doing all the stuff I usually do drunk to see if it’s possible to live clean and still have fun.
TEXTING AN EX
Pain Factor
There are exactly zero attractive men at the pub tonight (soda-and-lime goggles are a lot less powerful than wine ones) so I resort to what I usually do in this situation – texting my ex. When I’m drunk, doing this is like a muscle memory – something I do without even thinking. But now it takes me about 15 minutes to formulate the message and it hurts to have to press send. It reads, ‘Hey, I know we haven’t spoken for ages but I just wanted to say I wish nothing but the best for you in 2017 and all the years following.’ He replies, ‘Bloody hell, are you drunk, Josie?’ with five crying-laughing emojis. Usually I can’t even remember sending this text in the morning, and then I have a sick feeling I’ve pulled open a past I didn’t want to remember. Why would I treat a boy who dumped me by text this kindly? The boy whose rejection was part of the reason I started drinking until I blacked out. It’s idiotic, and doing it sober highlights just how stupid it is. The conversation continues with small talk, and it feels as if I’ve voluntarily handed him all the power by reaching out. I recommend everyone sends an ex a text sober to teach yourself that there is nothing to gain. You’ll never do it again. Trust me.
SINGING KARAOKE
Pain Factor 4
Remember that time you belted out Whitney in front of your colleagues? If you don’t, they definitely do. Whenever I do karaoke, I am convinced I’m the highlight of everyone’s night, and that I’ll soon be inundated with offers to perform at their family parties. I tell John Woodward, professor of neuroscience at the Medical University of South Carolina, that I often think I’m Adele’s biggest rival after a few beverages. He sniggers, “There is some evidence that alcohol enhances the ability to recognise happy faces faster, and this can egg us on.” But tonight I’ve drunk nothing but lemonade, and therefore everyone’s faces suddenly look like a wall of Scream masks. My name’s called. I cannot sing. This is a ridiculous idea. I remind myself that the audience is pretty drunk, awkwardly stumble through Bryan Adams and Melanie C’s
When You’re Gone and sit down. The experience is so much more intense, but I actually get a bigger buzz and an odd sense of achievement that I probably wouldn’t have had if I’d been drinking. It genuinely helps me to conquer my stage fright. Once you’ve done something as horrific as that, piping up at those Monday-morning meetings will seem a lot less scary.
“I don’t want to be the bore no one wants on their night out”
EATING A KEBAB
Pain Factor 3
I’m so into drunk food I once wrote a 1,132-word article on the subject for my university newspaper.
My go-to order is a regular mixed doner kebab with mint yoghurt sauce and extra onions – but I would never usually eat one sober at 3am, after already having three square meals that day. Turns out my post-midnight feast contains around 2,000 calories*, and is almost double my recommended daily salt intake. Three night buses passed by in the time it took me to eat half of it. How do I get through them so quickly when I’m drunk? Alcohol is the culprit again – it makes you crave greasy, fatty foods. “Alcohol increases the production of a hormone called ghrelin, which increases our appetite for fat, so that’s why we’re attracted to these dense, high-calorie foods,” Birmingham City University’s senior nutrition lecturer Mel Wakeman explains. I feel sick for hours. If I’d been drunk, I’d have fallen asleep straight after and wouldn’t have had to feel this nauseous. Next time, Wakeman tells me to try a dry tikka and rice at an Indian (650 calories, but also marinated in chilli and ginger, which both help kick-start your metabolism), or a chicken shish kebab with salad (300 calories). I make no promises.
HITTING THE FLOOR
Pain Factor 3 What the Borneo rainforest is to the proboscis monkey, the dance floor is to me. It is my natural habitat and I love it. There’s not much room for you if you’re dancing near me. Yet now, when I’m at one of my favourite haunts, Mayfair’s Mahiki, I feel out of place without vodka pulsing through my veins. I realise I always need ‘just one more drink’ before I can loosen up and do things like chat to men or dance. Without alcohol, I worry I’m unable to have a good time. Speaking to Professor Woodward before I went out, he encouraged me to push on. “Once we drink alcohol while doing a certain activity, our brain makes us feel like we need it every time. The more you experience fun times without it, the better you can participate in activities without feeling the need to drink.” With his words ringing in my ears, I grab my mocktail and leave the comfort of my booth behind. I launch into an awkward side step to a Little Mix song. In my head, I’m as wooden as the treasure chests they serve cocktails in, but once I look around and see everyone else is a) totally involved in their own moves, and b) those moves are every bit as extravagant as mine usually are, I feel at ease. I spend the remainder of the night shaking it off.
LESSONS LEARNED
I’m not going to lie and tell you I’m now teetotal. I love wine too much. But I did notice a change in myself. After five days sober, I started to write a book. I’ve had the idea for a year but was too caught in a cycle of hangovers to act on it. After 19 days, I started taking dance lessons again. This was once an important part of my life, but then I went to university and discovered £1.50 Jäegerbombs. It made me realise how much time, energy and money I devote to drinking, and that those things could be used in better ways. Being known as the fun, drunk one and feeling the pressure to deliver that performance each time I’m out is exhausting, but one of my big fears is that people think I’m boring – and they’ll suddenly discover that alcohol has been masking the fact I’m as dull as an episode of Gardener’s World. But I’ve learned that I do have an identity outside of the party scene and do you know what? I’m ready to embrace it.