It hasn’t been easy sitting alone and sober after wine o’clock. But I feel sharper... and richer

necessary’ companion, my husband, behind for another week. A food shopping trip reveals some interesting bottles of cordial — raspberry, elderflower, rhubarb with ginger — that are all lowsugar. Trouble is, they still turn out to be too sweet.

I’m beginning to miss the flavour of vodka or a delicious wine.

Friends have already started to express astonishment that I turned my back on the wine everybody drinks at dinner parties. No one but me seems to be cutting down, and I get the feeling they think I’ve become a bit dull.

Thursday, July 22 ALCOHOL: Small glass of wine

My AgeNT and her husband invite me to dinner in a restaurant we love and I fail to deny myself one small glass of a very fine rosé.

It is delicious and I begin to feel a little bit like the old me — selfdenial clearly doesn’t sit well with my personality. Just the taste and a smidgeon of a feeling of relaxation cannot be denied as great and familiar pleasures.

I’m realising that being teetotal isn’t going to work. My social life has always consisted of having dinner or just a drink with friends. I’d hate them to think I’d become a puritan who’d turn my back on a good glass of wine. Not sure they’d like me much any more.

Saturday, July 31 ALCOHOL: Two glasses of wine and a sip of champagne

IT’s becoming clear that limiting my consumption is having a profound effect on my health.

I am not fearing falling over as I climb the stairs at bedtime. I am waking up in the morning with no headache and a bright, ‘let’s get on with it’, cheery attitude to the start of a new day.

But today is the birthday party of my best friend sally’s husband. I accept the glass of champagne, take one sip and, deciding I don’t really like it, set it aside.

With a buffet of delicious food, I allow myself two small glasses of red. I just can’t be the party pooper sitting in the corner, announcing in a self-righteous manner, ‘No, thank you, I don’t drink’.

I remember the broadcaster Melvyn Bragg telling me some years ago that he and a group of friends had diminished their dangerously alcoholic socialisation by having a whole month booze-free from time to time, then limiting their consumption to two days a week. It makes perfect sense.

Drinking every day, alone or in company, has a disastrous effect on the liver and I know I’ve abused mine in the past. It seems a good idea to apply a regime similar to the 5:2 diet, which involves eating normally on five days a week and having an extremely low-calorie diet on the other two.

When it comes to drinking, why not abstain for five days and drink for two — a dry week and a wet weekend?

Of course, you don’t have to pick the same two days to indulge every week which, as a drinking rule, would allow for the occasional party and wine at dinner with friends week by week, but on the remaining five days there would be abstinence.

Saturday, September 11 ALCOHOL: One vodka and tonic

I’ve been doing so well. I’ve had no big occasions since the birthday party, but today a little group of us — my husband and neighbours — gather in my London garden to plant a white rose and scatter my beloved dog Butch’s ashes around it. I read a poem and we watch films of him as a puppy.

I know he’d find it surprising to see me without my favourite drink in my hand.

He’d also be saying, ‘Just the one, Mum’. He wouldn’t want me to slip back into drinking and risking weight gain.

We’d both had to watch our weight. He loved food even more than I did. He would have wanted me to stay fit and well, and hold him in my memory.

OCTOBER 29, 30 and 31 ALCOHOL: Lost count!

TO ceLeBrATe my son’s wedding, some 50 of us, friends and family, spend three days in each other’s company with fine wine, champagne and some spirits on tap.

I decide to let myself go — having had no lapses for the previous five days and promising myself none on the subsequent five.

A wonderful time is had by all. One glass of wine at dinner on the Friday night, then nothing till after the starter at the wedding feast on the saturday.

I refuse the proffered glass of champagne happily as I’ve found I don’t really like it. No alcohol before the meal, sticking to my forever rule — never drink before a performance. My son’s now father-in-law speaks before the first course; I speak before the main course.

Then I have lovely red wine to toast the bride. One glass and, in the evening, two vodkas and tonic. Far from excessive on such a joyous occasion. sunday dinner is another glass of wine and then back to no booze. I think both sons are proud of me.

Thursday, November 18 ALCOHOL: One glass of wine

IT HAsN’T been easy every night while sitting alone after ‘wine o’clock’, but when I don’t drink I feel sharper and richer.

And it’s always worth considering how hard booze hits the pocket. I work out that I’ve saved about £40 a week.

I’ve learned I can control my previous overindulgence, but that, for me, it’s much easier to do if you don’t have to convince yourself that ‘you will never encounter the demon drink again’.

On my 5:2 diet, I know I can still join in with friends — look forward to it, even — but I need to tell myself, on sober days, that I will simply not drink today.

That’s the message Alcoholics Anonymous preaches, but for a true alcoholic there can be no let up, no believing that one more drink will do no harm.

so, while I’ve failed to give up completely, I’ve also learned I’m not an alcoholic.

I can control it day by day; one drink does not drag me back to those worrying lonely days of excess. There have been some weeks when I haven’t felt the need for a drink at all.

Tonight I have one glass of red at a short party to celebrate my friend winning a libel case.

As the party season arrives, I know I needn’t be afraid to say yes, nor afraid to say no. It’s a relief to admit I don’t really like champagne, and to know I shan’t be staggering out of next week’s work do the worse for wear.

christmas Day itself will be no trouble at all with my family, none of whom have ever been known to overindulge. Moderation is the name of the game and it feels surprisingly good — as long as I don’t buy that always-tempting bottle of Baileys!