I absolutely loved doing Sober October. All 31 of its long dry days. And when I did break my fast with four pints in a pub with pals in Aberdeen, I ended up so hungover I vomited twice and couldnae eat all day.
I am a man who is inclined to getting absolutely blootered, generally in a joyful and light-hearted manner.
But I wanted to try Sober October to test out how sobriety could work alongside a vibrant social life.
I’ve never been an alcoholic, I dinnae think.
But alcohol is massively addictive.
And like many addictions, my reliance on booze has been mostly in ma head. I felt it was a central pillar of the good times.
Will I still get invited oot if I rock up with non-alcoholic beers, and am stone cold sober while my pals degrade to deep drunkenness around us?
Will I be able to relax and enjoy myself?
Will gigs be as good sober?
Well, there’s certainly been challenges.
How to navigate an booze-free night
At a birthday party at the Art Bar, for example. Nae alcohol-free stuff in the fridges. Nae tea bags for a wee mug of chai. Nightmare.
I ended up getting them to boil me the kettle and I made up a Lemsip wi a sachet I had in my pocket then sat there sipping a hot medical drink as aabdy else tanned pints.
Some pairty.
The hardest point of a sober evening, I found, is around 6.30pm.
The night at the pub drags out before you and looks endless.
Your mibbie still frazzled fae work, and the crack isnae quite flowing.
Mibbie you’re at a show and wouldnae mind a few quick pints to ease into things.
That wave of desire hits, rocks your commitment to sobriety, but then passes.
Watching folk drink in films can fairly set off a drouth.
John Mills drinks the most highly anticipated glass of beer in history in Ice Cold In Alex(1958). John Mills had to drink real beer for the scene and got quite drunk due to the number of takes of the scene. #ClassicFilm #BritishFilm #JohnMills pic.twitter.com/HyPFtRuzvO
— Time For A Film (@TimeForAFilm) August 26, 2021
One evening I watched the excellent The Banshees of Innisnerin, and lusted after every single pint of porter the characters glugged in their local.
All in all, the nights were tricky to navigate.
But the mornings, dear reader, took on an unbelievable quality.
I forgot about alcohol and remembered how to sleep
No midweek drinking meant that every single night I slept the lamb-like innocent sleep of the tired and pure.
Alcohol, even just a wee bit, really disturbs your quality of sleep.
A glass or two of red, or a couple of cans in the hoose on a Wednesday, really sap the pleasure away from Thursday’s commute.
But I’ve been leaping friskily from between the sheets this entire month, even getting to the gym for a session before work, which is very unlike me.
And those are the weekdays.
Weekend mornings are a level beyond.
With the rest of the world deep in their hellish hangovers, crawling to their kitchens for a glass of water and an aspirin, the city streets have been mine for the taking.
I’ve been getting out on long runs, enjoying hearty brunches at quiet cafes, reading books and getting up the glens for hefty hikes.
And then I’ve been sleeping.
So when Monday comes I’m refreshed and ready to go back at it.
Sleep isn’t the only thing that’s better without alcohol
Cutting oot the booze has given me an abundance of time, of peace and quiet, and of energy.
Another unexpected positive upshot is I’ve got closer to my sober pals.
A final dry Friday for #SoberOctober
Oot wi pals in Aberdeen, last train hame, up fresh and straight oot for a run
Noo, breakfast 🍳 pic.twitter.com/9KbQNV8iLG
— Alistair Heather (@Historic_Ally) October 29, 2022
I’ve no got loads of them. But one or two: the lads with bairns that just cannae afford to be reekin with a young life aboot the hoose.
Pals with alcoholics in their families who’ve moved away from it.
I’ve spent so much more time with them, and have been experiencing for a month the different rhythms life can move to when schedules arnae set by the closing of the pub.
Even more unexpected, I found a wide constellation of folk in my orbit that just arnae that bothered by booze at all.
The ones who can take or leave it, for whom a month off the sauce wouldnae be remarkable.
All in all, it’s been a bit of an eye opener.
I’ve felt that boozing is quite central to my social life, and maybe even to my social identity.
I thought it was non-negotiable, and that we were all circling it.
But no, hundreds of happy souls just cruise on through life with booze nothing more than an ornament on a shelf; nice enough but hardly vital.
And for a month I was one of them.
I’m not free of the fantasy of alcohol.
I still get an itchy lip when I see a cold pint.
And there is something about specifically denying yourself something for a month that makes you think about it much more often.
But I’ve loved this new lighter life I’ve uncovered.
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