How I beat my bottle of wine a night lockdown habit with a 5:2 drink diet
So many of us overindulged during the pandemic but JENNI MURRAY feared she was becoming an alcoholic. Here she shares the brutally honest diary that helped her find an ingenious solution
LOOKING ahead to the coming week, my diary sends a little chill down my spine. Christmas parties already! Thursday, December 2 — a work do. Saturday, December 4 — heading to a jazz club to greet the festive season with close friends.
In the past, both would have meant ample red wine and the probability of taking a taxi home pretty well loaded.
So, there’s an element of dread that I may be tempted to overindulge, especially having just spent nearly five months trying to battle the alcohol habit that had escalated during repeated lockdowns.
Living alone in my London flat for work, while my husband stayed in our home on the south coast, I’d found the lure of the demon drink increasingly hard to resist.
It was back in July that I announced in my column my intention to quit and become teetotal. Moderation is not a quality I have ever been known for, so initially I thought it needed to be all or
nothing. On the first night, I fixed up a non-alcoholic drink in a tall, cut glass — all the better to fool myself.
I’d frozen a couple of slices of lemon in the freezer in preparation, so I put one in the fancy glass and topped up with slimline tonic.
It might have looked just like an alluring vodka and tonic, but it tasted nothing like it. No vodka. No kick. I persevered and made it to bed stonecold sober.
I had got through the first evening of withdrawal with none of the overwhelming sense of deprivation I’d expected. Cheers!
I kept up the tonic and lemons trick for a week and felt awake and alive in the mornings. Not a hint of a headache or the familiar lassitude which had continued in the past until I’d consumed two huge, strong cups of coffee.
But goodness, temperance was boring. It took a severe talking to myself to keep me away from the half bottle of Stoli in the kitchen — alcohol is addictive, after all, so it wasn’t surprising that my brain had a few battles with my body. Brain said ‘No!’ and, at the start at least, I obeyed.
I’ve always enjoyed a glass or two of wine at home — never before 6pm when I could say officially that the sun had gone over the yardarm.
In England, 40 per cent of adults now drink more than the recommended 14 units per week — and, like many people, my drinking increased during the pandemic.
A couple of small glasses on most nights had gone up to what amounted to a whole bottle. Not good.
At first, as suggested by a friend, I changed my drink to vodka (apparently far less fattening than wine when mixed with slimline tonic).
I started with single shots and tried to make do with only one. It didn’t work. The singles grew to doubles. One glass went up to two, then three. The threat of alcoholism raised its ugly head. Something had to be done.
There is a growing list of health issues associated with drinking too much.
A few days ago, a scientific study revealed that drinking just four small glasses of wine a week increases the risk of dementia. Researchers warn it raises the chance of short-term memory loss and diminished spatial awareness by as much as half.
Then, of course, there’s the fact that hangovers are horrid and wine in that quantity is nothing more than empty calories. One glass is the equivalent of a slice of cake.
I’ve struggled with my weight in the past — constantly on a diet, losing, gaining and never finding moderation appealing. Success at keeping the weight off only came after having metabolic surgery to reduce the size of my stomach.
There is, as far as I know, no such treatment to arrest the slide into alcoholism.
I knew it would take all my willpower, but I couldn’t risk blowing up again because of my new, lonely tendency to overindulge on an increasingly regular basis.
I was truly sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. I hoped I would discover that life was so much better the fitter, more sober, I felt. That I would find I was not verging on alcoholism because I would be able to quit alcohol without any difficulty.
But it was not quite to be, as the following diary of my lapses recounts…
Wednesday, July 7 ALCOHOL: 0
A wEEk has passed on the lemon and tonic trick and today I must admit I am hugely relieved that tonight’s party for the presentation of the women’s Prize for Fiction has been cancelled.
Boris has pushed back the easing of Covid restrictions. No temptation to slide into the inevitable glass of champagne then. That would have destroyed a whole week of sobriety — one drink always tends to lead to another as relaxation sets in.
So, I can stay home, read a lot, tidy up a bit and keep occupied to resist sneaking a drop of vodka into the glass.
Unusually, I watch an exciting football match with water by my side. I’m not really a footie fan, but along with the rest of the country I’ve got quite caught up in the Euros.
It does feel a little strange not to root out a nice, cold bottle of beer for a big sporting occasion, but I resist and enjoy the game anyway.
Thursday, July 8 ALCOHOL: One can of Pimm’s
I SET off on the two-and-ahalf-hour journey to our home on the south coast.
I thought it would be easy to keep up the no-alcohol plan. My husband would be the perfect sober companion. He hardly ever drinks, never has hard liquor or even wine in the house, and only keeps the occasional small bottle of beer in the fridge.
Slight concern arises when I arrive and discover the village folk club has decided to risk a small, socially distanced opening night after being shut down for so long. David has booked tickets.
The bar isn’t open, so no temptation there, but cans and bottles of wine can be ordered at the table. David thinks a can of Pimm’s would be a pleasure on a warm summer’s night.
He is right, and I am sure one little drinkie won’t do any harm. I drink it. It tastes like pop and has no discernible effect other than quenching my thirst. Even though I’ve broken my no-drinking rule, I’m rather proud that there’s no longing to have another one.
Sunday, July 11 ALCOHOL: One small beer
I READ through lots of lovely emails from readers in response to this week’s column about my plans for sobriety.
There is plenty of encouraging support and suggestions of non-alcoholic mixers and beers, but I’ve tried those before and thought they tasted horrible. As with decaf coffee, what’s the point of wasting money on something that doesn’t have the kick you crave?
we watch the football final — England vs. Italy. It seems somehow unpatriotic to be teetotal on such an occasion — especially when we lose.
One very small beer is consumed in solidarity. Of course, I don’t really like beer so one was really one too many!
Tuesday, July 13 ALCOHOL: 0
BACk to London, leaving my ‘drink only when absolutely