Look, to be honest, I had spent 25 years stopping and starting and worrying about drinking, or not drinking and sometimes worrying about that, and sometimes not worrying about not drinking – the reprieves.
But last year, there were some moments in amongst my general ‘mindful drinking’ when I really did worry myself. I have usually been able to keep alcohol down to a dull roar. I could usually stay within 14 units a week, if we calculated it over a month anyway. This took some effort!
And then periods when I could drink more were both welcomed and dreaded. Holidays and Christmas and New Year, I would usually drink daily, never getting really drunk but often tipsy. And I’d usually feel pretty terrible by the end, both physically and mentally.
Anyway, at one period last year I was thinking to myself that I might be better just aiming for one glass of wine daily… have it every day but not much. I had made all sorts of deals with myself, this was just one last year.
But then I though that one wouldn’t really be enough… and wasn’t this all too stressful. Maybe I should just go the whole hog and start drinking as much as I want which would inevitably lead to terrible behaviour and then P would notice and make me stop. I could just get so bad that I would actually have to stop. Finally. Forever.
Or… and this was what freaked me out somewhat… I thought I could just tipple away, but I wouldn’t want P and the kids to see that. So, genius thought! I could just stash a bottle of wine in the garage and then pop out now and then and have a glass, or just a refill. How cunning. How devious. I wonder whether any drinker has ever thought of that before? Hohoho.
Anyway… I never did it, but both the urge to drink so much so that all pretence was over, and also that urge to hide booze did give me a fright.
What was I thinking? Where was I going with this all? I was 55, hadn’t I wised up by now?
