I CAN RESIST ANYTHING BUT TEMPTATION

Forsaking booze on weekdays has lost its allure for a perilously parched Fiona Armstrong

Fiona Armstrong is feeling parched

I’ve done a dry January before but a day without wine is like a day without sunshine

T he chief goes shopping for strong coffee and sweet biscuits. He comes back with both – plus a greetings card he has found in the stationary aisle that he gleefully hands over. On the front is a picture of a mother and daughter. The innocent child is asking her learned parent a tricky question. Is there really such a thing as the perfect man? ‘Of course dear,’ she replies. ‘He wears a kilt and he calls himself a Scot…’ Of course he does.

The problem is, why can’t this plaided picture of perfection, this handsome hunk of a Highlander, manage to be a bit more perfect? Does he not comprehend that such a paragon of virtue should close the cupboard door every time he takes something out?

Does he not realise that a fellow with no faults should re-fill the kettle when he makes a cup of coffee, and not leave it for someone else to do? Or perhaps he might even think about re-filling the ice tray from time to time? Does he know how highly irritating it is to open the freezer and find just one solitary sub-zero cube sitting there?

That is one cube across three empty trays, by the way. Which is useless when you need an icy G&T, pronto. Or something punchy to perk up up a lessthan-best white wine…

Meanwhile, on the subject of drink, I may have stumbled on the secret of self-control. This year my New Year’s resolution was to have more non-drinking days than drinking days. And so far, touch wood, that resolve is holding. I’ve done a dry January before. How hard can it be? This year three million Britons did it. But it is difficult. A day without wine is a day without sunshine. So abstinence in these worst weeks is horrible.

A dry January means you are stuck in winter gloom for 31 dark and dismal days. It is going cold turkey with nothing to lift the spirits. But restricting drinking to the end of the week gives a glimmer of hope. It is not so all-denying. There is light at the end of a very sober tunnel. So, Monday, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays are now no-go days for alcohol. But come Friday, there is the chance to party. Hurrah!

It is a lone decision. The perfect man I share my life with does like his evening dram and is refusing to come on this rather smug journey. But at the risk of sounding self-satisfied, I am rather enjoying the ride. I write this, on a cheerless Monday night, a glass of tonic water served over ice next to the laptop. And it is rather pleasant. The drink that is, not the computer.

Tomorrow, who knows? I may splash out and treat myself to sparkling elderflower juice. Or even fresh orange juice and soda. It’s a routine I could adapt to. But what will happen when temptation calls, I do not know. What will I do when a celebration comes on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday? Thankfully, this year the MacGregor’s birthday falls on a Friday. But mine will be on a Wednesday – which is not good news.

Then there are the bank holidays to consider. We always have a lunchtime drink on a bank holiday. They fall on a Monday, but does it really count as a Monday? Ask me in six months how all this is going. In the meantime, perfect man has closed the drawers and filled the kettle. Happy days!