I’ll drink to Trevor’s 29 days of voluntary abstinence

IT was one of those agreeable village things, spontaneous and a reminder that a spirit of community still exists.

We gathered in the Old White Bear to share Trevor’s big day: a celebration of his first voluntary dry month since he was a teenager.

He forsook the sauce throughout February – in a Leap Year, dammit– and raised £1,000 for charity. If that’s not worth “Cheers!” I don’t know what is.

“Trev”, aged 77, virtually comes as a fixture and fitting in the public bar of the Bear. He’s been there as long as I’ve been going in, which is longer than it should be.

A former gas board ground worker, he’s dug more holes than your average mole, and that kind of labour does dry the throat – though being the son of a landlord at the former Junction Inn down the road may have sharpened his thirst.

His last job before retiring was to clean the Yorkshire Dales National Park public conveniences, which he did with his wife June. She died fifteen months ago, and the money raised by his beer-fast went to the local hospice and cancer charity.

Did he feel better after his twenty-nine days of abstinence?

“Did I [expletive deleted]!”

But he strenuously denied sneaking the odd Scotch indoors. Was this his longest feat of self-denial? No, he once went without for seven weeks, though that was involuntary, er, ahem, said with a wink of the eye.

I’ve never emulated Trevor’s feat, except after the big operation, but that doesn’t count. Nor does a three-week trip to Iran, because I didn’t fancy a thousand lashes for breaking Islamic law.

In any case, abstinence is over-rated. What’s yours?