What to expect when you quit drinking

KATY HARRINGTON

ONCE a year I take a month off drink and cigarettes for what has become known as Stoptober. Not the catchiest name ever but it does the trick. I started a few years back, and while I found the first few weeks mind-numbingly monotonous, I stuck with it. Now, I (almost) look forward to it every year.

For me, it’s a chance to take a break from the relentless cycle of after-work drinks that go on too late and the inevitable hangover headache and breakfast of trans fats from Tesco the next morning. It’s respite from waking up with pockets full of empty cigarette cartons, wads of receipts for drinks I can’t remember buying and a haunting sense of guilt because I should know better than Jagerbombs at 2am. It’s also a wonderful excuse to say no to social obligation, because really, no one wants you there if you aren’t drinking anyway. Harsh but true.

One of the things most eye-opening about Stoptober is the resistance. Perhaps in January it’s more acceptable to give up drink, but in October? Really? It’s flabbergasting. Colleagues roll their eyes when I tell them I’m skipping Thursday night drinks, friends get annoyed when I say I’ll come but won’t be boozing at their birthday parties and I’m met with decidedly less enthusiasm when I propose a walk, movie or anything else instead of the pub. Some sober people get so fed up of being questioned and cajoled that they drink soda and lime and pretend it’s vodka to avoid getting the third degree.

Weird isn’t it, how someone else doing something radical about their drinking makes us uptight about our own. Still, it doesn’t put me off. If you are doing Stoptober for the first time, I guarantee you’ll be richer, more alert and calmer by the end, just don’t expect any encouragement.