ONE TOO MANY
“Twenty-eight days. I have given myself 28 days to change my relationship with alcohol, because I can no longer hide from the fact that my frenemy, Chardonnay, is stabbing me in the back with a rusty blade. I feel grubby inside, jaded and diminished, and sadly accustomed to a sluggish mind and aching body too many mornings a week. The words ‘Dry January’ are falling from the lips of millions of resolute people around the world who want to drink less, so I can do this undetected as a person who worries about her drinking and hide in plain sight. For 28 days.
Wine o’clock gets ever earlier – my time to unwind after a demanding day. ‘Mummy’s juice!’ my friends raise their glasses as we connect over our social lubricant, which makes me feel vivacious for one or two, before judgment is clouded, emotions run high and I am firing off regrettable texts. Before the hazy decline and ensuing depression, I see myself as the convivial bon viveur, a party girl… ‘Anything can happen when you’re around!’ my friends congratulate me. Until the entertainment goes too far, says something inappropriate, canoodles with the wrong person or becomes the barefoot fool at a work do. Intoxicated, with the emphasis on toxic. Ethanol – yes, the poison in car fuel – dumps embarrassment and melancholy at my door, and it no longer feels like an enjoyable, relaxing choice. Once I start, it can be a
