WE HAVE FINALLY reached the last weekend in the longest month of the year; the end is officially in sight, people.
But you don’t need us to tell you that; almost everything in your life right now is pointing to that fact, isn’t it?
We mean, your skin is pleading for a little Vitamin D, your bank account is crying out for a little invigoration, and if you decided to brave Dry January this year, your hand is only itching to be placed around a pint glass…. or is it?
A variety of people attempt Dry January every year, and, as such, the outcome is as varied as the people who attempt it.
There are those who fail in the first week, those who (just about) endure 31 alcohol-free days, those who enjoy the booze-free month but happily sink a pint once February rolls in, and then there are those who choose to remain on the dry, spurred on by a sense of personal achievement.
Every New Year’s Day I resolve to complete a Dry January, and every year I fail before midnight tolls on the 31st…. long before. Weeks, if we’re being honest here.
This year I made the same announcement, and as has been known to happen, I found myself with a bottle of wine in my hand on the first Saturday of the month.
On this occasion, however, it remained unopened. In fact, it didn’t even leave the supermarket.
The dance of deliberation in that alcohol aisle was a sight to behold I’m sure, but in the end I put it back on the shelf and reminded myself that I had yet to complete a Dry January.
The following weekend was slightly easier, despite the fact I envisioned the second weekend of the month being more difficult.
‘The first weekend would be a novelty, I reasoned. ‘The second would be a self-inflicted torture.’
Ultimately, however, the inclination to have a drink on the Saturday night receded pretty quickly when I reminded myself it was more of a habit than a genuine desire.
‘The third weekend will surely be an absolute nightmare, I predicted. ‘I’ll crack like an egg and spend the rest of January feeling like a failure.’
Given the fact I was meeting friends on the Saturday and going out for dinner on the Sunday, I assumed that it would be damn near impossible to avoid having a gin&tonic or glass of wine.
It was then I reminded myself that I automatically associate various social events with alcohol because I often drink out of habit, not necessarily out of desire, and as you may have guessed, I made it through the third weekend, alcohol-free.
So, here we are, with just days to go, and I’m toying with the idea of prolonging the dry stretch somewhat. You know, just to see if I can.
