“Goodbye to the Port and Brandy, to the Vodka and the Stag,
To the Schmiddick and the Harpic, the bottled draught and keg.
As I sat lookin’ up the Guinness ad I could never figure out
How your man stayed up on the surfboard after 14 pints of stout.”
So sings Christy Moore in his wonderful Delirium Tremens
I have decided to have a wee experiment in self awareness. I am going booze free for 3 months from 1 August. It’s not that I am out on the town every night and nor am I a candidate for the Hello Sunday Morning specifically (I don’t actually go out a lot on Saturday nights!) But I am interested in my relationship to alcohol.
I have had some pretty big nights over the last year and several of those have had repercussions for me personally. I’m not talking waking up with facial tattoos in a Bangkok whore-house kind of repercussions, but mornings-after which have left me annoyed with my judgement.
I am interested in seeing what it will be like. I am sure I’ll save some money (I tend to become a rock star when on the turps without having sold the albums). I know it will be safer to go near my phone as there’ll be less cringe texting to explain.
I’m worried that I might not be as tall, hilarious or strikingly handsome as I am when I have a glass of the amber in my hand. I’ll probably realise just how sodding normal I can be.
I shall miss my wee evening tipple of the Irish but perhaps it’ll mean less cheese and I may get to the elusive target weight.
And then I’ll be able to have a few quiets come November and bore people with the stories of my experiment.
Knowing my luck I’ll be upgraded to business class on every flight over this period and have to refuse the dessert wine… mutter mutter. The things I do for science.
It was either this or coffee and that is never never happening.