Update. Still not drinking

I have to admit to having been uninspired about keeping this blog ticking over. Abandoning my blog might have made it look like I had tumbled off the wagon, but I haven't. I'm still teetotal and revelling in it. I love the absence of hangovers (almost can't remember what they feel like) and love the new ability to walk into a pub or a party without an overwhelming expectation for guzzling alcohol.

Alongside telling my sister that I was not keen to post, about eight stories of alcohol induced near-death experiences spilled non-stop from my mouth. She said that I should just write about them and change the blog name to, 'Why I don't drink any more.' But - oh my - I might never be employed again.

Update - 53 days of sobriety

Wowser - that's about 1/7 of the year! Two pregnancies and early childhood aside, I don't think I have ever gone this long without even a drop, sniff, tiny tipple of a drink. And do you know what - I am loving it! I have to admit that I have been out a little less than I normally would but that's easy this time of year. I went to the pub this Thursday and Friday and watched several friends consume enough to make their teeth that lovely red-wine grey, their movements wobbly and their articulation a little less than clear and I wasn't tempted to join them once. I thought people would be uncomfortable having a teetotaller in their midst but this hasn't appeared to be the case so far. I appear to pick up on their stance and feel a little drunk myself.

Other observations:
- I get tired in a way I would not when I drink. Clearly the stimulant effect of alcohol has a big impact. But I also notice that tiredness makes me feel a little tipsy in itself.
- Being sober amongst drunk people has held a mirror up to my former self. Is that what I go like? My husband has told me the standard route is incessant talking and ineffective listening - I do stop talking when somebody else speaks but it is like the other person talking is an interruption I have to be patient about and then I just continue where I left off when they have finished. What anyone says has no impact on what I am talking about. Lucky friends. But do I wobble?
- I occasionally miss the actual warm feeling you get from drinking. Not from any trigger other than my mind wanders there. I have decided that the optimum mood enhancement happens between the end of the first drink up to about half way through the third drink. It's a shame I could never guarantee staying in that lovely window. That window also = optimum fun. On a heavy and enthusiastic night's drinking that can equate to quite a short amount of time.
- I am having fun anyway!
- I am feeling pleased with myself and admiring my resolve.
- I am loving the absence of hangovers.

The other side of the bar.

The Adam and Eve is the oldest pub in Norwich - founded in 1249. It served beer to people who built parts of the cathedral and it had its own wherry at one point. It is quite a sophisticated pub what with being laden with so much history, beautiful old beams, cosy, higgledy piggledy nooks and crannies, Dutch gables, pretty hanging baskets full of flowers, pride in its huge range of different whiskies and - positioned opposite the law courts - often being full of legal bigwigs. But I worked there.

The landlord at the time (Colin Burgess) was a 'character'. He was frequently given less that six weeks to live by his doctor if he didn't stop smoking and drinking. On the days he received this news, he usually drowned his sorrows in several gin and tonics. To his staff he was firm but also erratically kind. He wanted the customers to be happy and served well but he also took quite a paternal approach with his staff - especially the short blonde ones. When I once told him I was going to Cornwall for a holiday he was outraged. He leant forward and showed me a wad of rolled up cash in his front shirt pocket and said, 'go on Mols - help yourself and have a proper holiday.' I didn't because I suspected some alcohol was talking - as it often was. When he learnt I loved brussel sprouts - he'd always leave me a few in a saucepan. But the following act of 'paternal' love was the best.

Remember when last orders was called ten minutes before 11 p.m., time was called at eleven and then you had a strict twenty minutes to drink up and leave? This story came from that time. I had called time. This young, drunk man marched into the pub and demanded a pint of beer. I replied, 'I am sorry sir but time has been called.' He made his demand again. I repeated my polite refusal. He then re-uttered his demand somewhat aggressively and enhanced it by grabbing my T-shirt and lifting me up a little. He was quite big and I have always been quite small. And it is only upon reflection and when I had received several perturbed responses from this story that I realised that what I did next was a little odd. I couldn't tell you where the idea came from. I stood firm, stuck my finger up his nose and stated clearly, while moving my finger slowly to the left and then the right of the bar in time with each word, with his nose following, 'You - cannot - have - a - pint - of - beer - sir.' I stopped with my finger still in place. I watched as he lifted his nose - attached to a considerably startled face - off my finger. He backed off. I watched as he rejoined the group of his friends a short distance from the bar and recounted the story to them and pointed at me. I smiled. His friends clearly thought he was making it all up. I won.

And then some niggling doubt crept in. Colin had such a pride in his pub and in keeping customers happy. I suspected that sticking fingers up his customers' noses wasn't really what he had in mind when it came to customer care. What if the man told on me? Colin knew I was a little unorthodox in places. So I confessed. Head bowed in uneasy shame, I told Colin the whole story. I was dreading his response. He could be quite fiery and unpredictable - like most alcoholics. And I simply could not have predicted his response. He put his arm around me and said in a way that seemed like he had carefully considered what I had divulged, 'Mols if you thought it was appropriate to stick your finger up a customer's nose, then I trust your judgement.' Excellent managerial call in my opinion.

The Drunken Shits, UEA - My career in alcohol Part 2

During the freshers' week upon arriving at university the society fair offered no end of clubs and groups for young enthusiasts to engage in. I did the rounds keenly, asked lots of questions and signed myself up the three such clubs. The first one was the 'Fell and Cave' society. I don't think my 18 year old self fully understood what was involved but I do remember two weekends away from halls in term time. Those weekends had no caves but there was a lot of walking across moors in the rain. I also remember sleeping in a cold and damp derelict building in the Peak District and sleeping in a youth hostel in the Yorkshire Moors. I also remember a well-earned hearty beer or two at the end of each day and enjoying that the most.

The second club clearly had no impact on me whatsoever because I cannot remember what it was. I only remember that I joined three. The third, however, I partook in as a bona fide, full on, complete and utter, could not be more involved, enthusiast. That society was known as, 'The Drunken Shits'. For the fee they charged at the beginning of the year (£3?), you got an excellent service. Every Friday at about 3 p.m. a map with a list of at least ten pubs was delivered into the pigeon hole in your school of study. In the eighties, the city of Norwich boasted a church for every week of the year (not needed) and a pub for every day of the year (essential) and the Drunken Shits aimed to cover them all in the academic year. It succeeded.

Very rarely did I miss a crawl. It started early so sometimes I joined later. I also took to taking a carrier bag with me. I appear to have collected beer mats, towels and ash trays. I remember also always feeling lost. The maps they provided were clear but the route usually started in a place everyone knew and then often took you to an area in the outskirts of Norwich nobody knew. This was not at all helpful when your consciousness was the other side of several pints.

As such a loyal crawlee, I must have been in with the organisers too because I somehow managed to get a design my brother drew onto the Drunken Shits' official T-shirt one year. And this tiny photo - where you cannot really see that it tells you that I am a drunken shit - is all the memento I have of that extraordinary part of my career in alcohol. And that photo is of me with an American couple in Lucerne and we are all appropriately inebriated.

Transcendental Meditation - my experiences so far

I had half-heartedly toyed with the idea of various kinds of meditation for a few years before I actually did something about it. I knew it was a GOOD thing. There's plenty of evidence on the internet and first-hand experiences of friends that told me that. Ultimately, however, I think the fact I had tried many self-help techniques over the years (hypnosis, reflexology, EFT, shiatsu etc etc) and still felt I hadn't 'arrived' was the drive for me to finally take proper initiative. While I could momentarily access inner calm -it was hardly prevalent in my existence. I have a pretty stressful job. I teach young children who have been kicked out of mainstream education and I'm quite a sensitive soul. The irony is - I think you have to be to be drawn to such a job. So about five months ago I became determined to give meditation a go. I was also very lucky because my cousin is a TM teacher and she waived her teaching fee to give me a reduced price deal. She stayed with me for five days. It's very easy to learn. She was brilliant.

I was a little sceptical that two, twenty minute sessions a day of chanting a mantra in my head would have much impact. Indeed, at first the impact was not that noticeable. It just felt good to sit quietly for a while. But over time I noticed subtle changes. Each meditation is different. Sometimes I feel like I have just sat and my head has raced through a hundred thoughts, sometimes I have great ideas mid-meditation and I have to resist the urge to rush off and write them down and other times I enter an extremely deep state of blissful relaxation. More recently I have accessed these blissful states more regularly. I guess the cumulative effect is kicking in. It's only when I stock-take consciously that I can recognise the impact meditation has had - because nothing has happened drastically or overnight - but generally I have noticed:

- I am able to focus on one thing at a time more effectively without flighty distraction
- I feel like I look at potentially tense situations with a bigger perspective and consequently I am less negatively reactive. It's almost like I have become a little detached from my ego.
- I feel more creative. I always had lots of ideas but the ideas come more coherently these days!
- I sleep better
- I am less easily irritated and stressed by things
- I feel more calm in my day-to-day existence and generally happier
- and of course, because of this, sobriety and my new, revised, baseline consciousness is more attractive than it used to be.

A very triggery weekend

Well for those of you who have sensible drinking habits, this might seem pathetic but I am very pleased with myself. This weekend, I faced and defeated six temptations to drink or rather six situations that would have potentially involved me drinking.

These included:
- the end of my working week (Thursday evening). I did feel I had earned a drink. The idea of 'earning' a drink is a little odd. I think I might have to address that - perhaps earn something else.
- I popped around a friend's house in the evening and watched her drink a bottle of beer while I sipped tea.
- I went to the cinema (OK -I don't normally drink at the cinema but it was an independent one with a bar and my companion drank a pint and a half)
- I went to a pub after the cinema and drank soda water. In the last two decades, there has been probably less than a handful of times that I have been in a pub and not drunk anything alcoholic. It's a big association for me. PUB = PINTS
- I went to an afternoon housewarming party where most people were drinking. I had elderflower cordial and a cup of tea. i also had a lot of fun and witty banter.
- I went to an evening birthday party with alcohol-a-flowing and drank fizzy water. We sang and chatted and I very much enjoyed the people there.

The best part about this not drinking - I have realised - is that I not only feel so much better the next day, I think I actually have more fun. The reason for this....um....let me think...

- Other people's tipsiness rubs off on me and I don't actually notice I am sober.
- I am rarely socially awkward and I don't think my behaviour is much different from when I am sober from when I am drunk. That's not to say I am never socially inappropriate - that's different!
- I feel a sort of pride in the fact I am still having fun and remaining wholesome (there is pleasure in that for me).
- Remaining sober means I can navigate social interactions more effectively for the whole evening. Alcohol undoubtedly makes me less sensitive to others, more likely to misunderstand and more blurty! I have committed many a faux pas under the influence like the time I told someone she looked like a bumble bee at a wedding. I had meant it as a compliment but it was not received as such. I actually have to be sober to understand that this could possibly cause offence.
- I enjoy the clarity that stays with me for the evening, my awareness isn't curbed and I can maximise on interactions which is the part I love about parties.
- I am not always looking for something to put in my glass, I don't have to hold a glass and I am not looking for people to blag fags off. It frees up more time and my hands!

Ridiculous alcohol story number 1

I suspect nearly everyone has a few ridiculous alcohol fuelled stories. Well I have several. I think I will share some of them over time. I'm not sure whether they will make me think more finely of alcohol or help me see the warm, enticing, health-giving light of sobriety.

I suspect few people can attribute two house fires to their drinking. I have already written about these on my old blog.

House fire number 1

and

House fire number 2

Another story that recently came to mind was this one....

When I was twenty years old I went inter-railing around Europe with my boyfriend of that time. He was a lovely person but we were not very well suited. He was sensible and tidy, I was reckless and messy - except for when we both drank because then we were both pretty chaotic - probably our only common ground. Our tour of Europe was amazing and a whistlestop one.

Cherbourg - Paris - Cologne - Munich - Zurich - Lucerne - Venice - Innsbruck - Salzburg - Vienna - 40 hour train ride to Athens - Naplion (in the Peloponnese) - Patras - ferry to Brindisi - Bari - Rome - Pisa - Florence - Milan - Bologna - Nice - Biot for a shower - Nice - and home.

However, we nearly gave Venice a miss. Venice - one of the most amazingly unique and beautiful places: an absolutely-must-not-be-missed gem. And we nearly missed it because of - you guessed - alcohol. And the story went like this.....

Our guidebook informed us that we needed to camp on the mainland as the 'island' of Venice certainly does not have any campsites. We found one such campsite. It was pleasant enough. Once settled in with our tiny two person ridge tent pitched, we discovered that the campsite shop sold bottles of wine at 50p for a litre and a half. Our student mentality went 'BINGO' and proceeded to imbibe the fizzy pale liquid in the volume we saw fit for the value we were getting. I think we spent £1.50. We met some fellow Brits - public school boys who we didn't overly get on with but our altered state smoothed things along nicely.

And then we went to bed.

I can still feel the all-over head, body and soul pain I felt that morning as my boyfriend (clearly also suffering to the same extent) said to me something like, 'uuu ot a uj on ur fas.' I murmured 'wha?' and he continued to repeat whatever it was he was trying to communicate until eventually my penny dropped. He was actually saying, 'you've got a slug on your face.' Now in almost every other circumstance other than the one I was in then, being told I had a slug on my face would have resulted in extreme panic, expletives, movement that would mean I looked blurry to any onlooker and every possible expression of disgust a person could muster. But it is an indication of the state I was in that I simply and quite slowly, brushed the slug off my cheek so that it landed next to my head on whatever I was using as a pillow and fell back to sleep.

Hours went by. At one point I remember unzipping the tent to flop my head down on the mud to vomit next to my head and then drew back into the tent like a tortoise going into its shell. Further hours went by. It took until about 2 p.m. before we could move in any way, shape or form. I chose to use my newfound mobility to throw up in a more dignified manner. I rushed to the toilet and flew into the cubicle but despite my state, I could not throw up in that toilet for coiled around the bowl was an extremely long poo that ended - I kid you not - with a little point that just popped over the edge of the toilet rim. I made it to the next toilet - also not in a great state but managed my discerning barfing quite well.

There was more resting and I remember the words, 'I think we'll have to give Venice a miss.' We both agreed as energetically as we could which might have amounted to a miniscule nod limited by pain. The injury we had inflicted upon ourselves was just too great. It can only be down to the fact that we were so young that at about 3. p.m. I suddenly decided we HAD to do Venice. And we did. I was glad we did. We wandered round the alleys, saw St Mark's, the Bridge of Sighs and lapped up that wonderful city. But had we learnt a lesson? Of course we hadn't.