I’m doing dry January, even if it could end up being more of a ‘damp January’ with long alcohol free spells

IN these pages last week, my colleague Ros Dee wrote how, with respect to all those giving up alcohol for January, she would continue to enjoy her glass of wine.

Well in my Dry January house, it’s Day 14, and all occupants remain alive and hangover-free. I’m almost at the halfway mark, and what’s left of my experiment can now be counted on three hands.

Now, I could tell you that it’s been an easy breezy walk in the park, and that I feel wonderful. So wonderful in fact, I’ll probably be one of the 8% who gives up alcohol for good once this month has past. But why would I lie to you? People – it has not been an easy ride, for lots of reasons. Despite being lured by the expectation of more restful slumber, I’m still knackered – it’s like my small children don’t understand and continue to not sleep – plus I’m sick of the taste of water. I’ve also called time on bread, cheese, sugar and tasty food in general, as this contains calories – in a bid to whittle my waist. Withdrawal from all of the above initially gave me blinding headaches and sugar cravings, which made me very grumpy. And intolerant. And hungry.

But the good news? Every day is getting easier. I’m not half as irritable as I was this time last week, or as peckish. A couple of weeks sans booze and junk food, the postChristmas bloat and bulge has mostly dissipated. I have resolutely stood on the scales every morning for proof of this – and over the last couple of days, I can actually feel it – I don’t have to squash my stomach into my favourite jeans as much.

My approach is extreme, perhaps; restrictive, definitely, but I deemed it necessary. I have a significant birthday approaching, the dress has been purchased, and let’s just say it’s a neat fit. You see, I am an all-or-nothing kind of person. And as I can’t just have one biscuit and rarely just one glass, I’ve decided to go cold turkey. On everything.

BUT I’ll be honest – I miss chocolate and crisps. I miss being a greedy guts. And, most of all, I miss wine. Ah, my old friend. A nice, cold glass while cooking the dinner, another perhaps while eating it, and a little digestif to end an evening. In our home, opening a bottle symbolises a reward of sorts. That pop of the cork that says: ‘Well done you! Kids in bed, work finished, no casualties.’

I’m managing to push down the misery as my clothes fit better than they have done in years. My ongoing mantra: nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

Yes, this month, things are a little different. I’ve improvised with lentil crisps and Diet Coke in a wine glass, but despite the fizz, I’m feeling somewhat flat. It’s hard to write the next bit without appearing like a dipso, but I’ll admit – I don’t just like the taste of a chilled Verdejo or zesty Sauvignon. I like the feeling of it – that warm fuzziness that those first few sips bring, even if what that really means is that the neurotransmitters in my brain are slowing down. Come now, let’s not get bogged down by science.

I like the ritual of it, the fact that it’s usually going to be paired with some delicious grub, and uncorking a bottle generally poses the opportunity to partake in one of my other favourite hobbies, talking. To anyone. Husband, mother, mates or dogs, I’m not fussy. As long as it’s not my children, as that would mean they are not asleep.

It’s funny, as you would think that becoming a mother would make me a more responsible human being. But no, I’m still waiting for that to happen. And it doesn’t help that these days, society has given mothers a free pass when it comes to knocking back the booze – in fact, it’s actively encouraged. Now, we can conveniently use our challenging children as an excuse to swill – it’s a perfectly normal thing to do! Just Google parenting memes: The kids whine, and we wine! What’s the most expensive part about having children? All the wine you have to drink!

I’ll admit, I haven’t given my liver much of an extended break over the years, so I was a bit nervous at the thought of going an entire month off alcohol. You see, since I had that first can of Ritz as a teenager (don’t judge), alcohol has been lurking close by. Be it a sneaky naggin to a champagne flute, it’s been there during the good times – holidays, graduations, birthdays – and the bad – bereavement, heartbreak, burnout. It’s been both friend and foe, crutch and comfort.

The amount of drink I consumed on a night out (or in) never really concerned me up until now. Perhaps it’s to do with impending middle age – but this is the first time I considered ditching the drink for a while. Let’s face it, it’s not good for you, no matter what those skinny French women say. I gave up while I was pregnant – twice – so I knew I could do it. But it’s very different taking wine out of the equation willingly, minus the responsibility of growing a small human and the flood of nauseating hormones which make you retch a trillion times a day.

Call me a creature of habit, but one of the things that really worried me was Friday and Saturday nights. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry too much about avoiding the pub, as being a parent of young children nips that one in the bud. It helps that my husband has embarked on the drought with me, so he’s depriving himself too. Hey, misery loves company!

Now instead of watching endless television and sipping wine, we will take turns either going out for a run or bringing the dogs out for a long walk.

I’m also feeling more motivated to go to the gym, so I train early morning at least three times a week, and I’m enjoying it. The only real legal vice left is coffee, so I’m necking it by the gallon.

WHEN I said I wasn’t going to drink for a month, people’s reactions were varied. Some laughed, some were impressed, one friend was a little disgusted that I would even consider it. Certain people still don’t think I’ll do it, and to be honest, after a tough day at work, or if my children are being monkeys, I’m doubtful too.

I’ve allowed myself two cheat days. One has gone (January 1) – and before you judge, in my defence this was mostly in a frantic effort to rid the house of alcohol in preparation of the mammoth task ahead. I know, I’m a trooper!

A question mark remains over the other one. On Saturday, I’ll go to a lunch in memory of our beautiful friend who passed away a year ago. She was effervescent and sparkling, a bit like the Moet she used to keep in her fridge for special occasions, like, you know, a Monday.

So yes, I’ll definitely raise a glass to our wonderful girl. But what will it be filled with? I’m still not sure...