And then I stopped blogging. I finished the month without a single hiccup - not a sniff of alcohol, not a whiff of a cigarette, and no flesh passed my lips. I even managed to resist my mum's crepe suzette, doused though it was in Grand Marnier and filled though it was with melted chocolate.
I got so caught up in the actuality of abstinence - even down to swimming twice a week to add to the already heady feeling of self-righteousness runnething over my cup - that I neglected to write about it. Which is the best result of all, I suppose.
Some people live life, while others just observe it. Some people get caught in the rain; others just get wet. I got caught in the rain while living life, and it felt bloody fantastic. And now I'm off for a pint, a burger and a long hard look at the rest of the year...
Monday, 31 March 2008
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Chairman of the bored
I'm with Iggy Pop on this one. Sobriety in places where one is most usually sozzled is a state I've pretty much never experienced before. I mean, why would I even think of going to a gig, a party or a comedy night without a generous vat of social lubricant?
The last 12 days have allowed me time to think about exactly this, and I've discovered some unpleasant and really not at all reassuring truths. Here they are.
1. I'm bored. Really, really bored! This is a big shock. Apparently I've spent the last 15 years going to gigs with the express intention not of seeing an exciting new band, but of getting pissed and smoking till I croak - and maybe at some point accidentally seeing some live music. Take away the grog and the snouts, and what's left? A lot of standing about, waiting for something to happen, and very little in the way of distraction from the nagging thought that maybe there's something good on telly right now.
2. Many of my friendships might not be built on anything more solid than a battered dinghy on a lake of lager. I go out, I get drunk, I talk a load of crap, I buy people drinks so I'm not drinking alone, I give people cigarettes in the totally pathetic hope they might, I dunno, like me more. How tragic is this? It's an awful realisation, but a very important admission.
3. I've always happily accepted that some art/performance is better appreciated with the help of alcohol. But I don't think I've ever been honest enough to face up to the fact that much of the music I've busied myself with over the last decade and a half might actually be terrible. My memories of so many evenings are so tainted by beer that I rely on photos and other people's stories to "remember" them; my own recollections simply aren't reliable.
The more I get into this detox, the more convinced I am that I'm doing absolutely the right thing. I may still be in the first blush of commitment to a new relationship (this time, with abstinence), but right now I'm genuinely wondering if I'll ever drink regularly again. I could still smoke a cigarette right now this second though...
The last 12 days have allowed me time to think about exactly this, and I've discovered some unpleasant and really not at all reassuring truths. Here they are.
1. I'm bored. Really, really bored! This is a big shock. Apparently I've spent the last 15 years going to gigs with the express intention not of seeing an exciting new band, but of getting pissed and smoking till I croak - and maybe at some point accidentally seeing some live music. Take away the grog and the snouts, and what's left? A lot of standing about, waiting for something to happen, and very little in the way of distraction from the nagging thought that maybe there's something good on telly right now.
2. Many of my friendships might not be built on anything more solid than a battered dinghy on a lake of lager. I go out, I get drunk, I talk a load of crap, I buy people drinks so I'm not drinking alone, I give people cigarettes in the totally pathetic hope they might, I dunno, like me more. How tragic is this? It's an awful realisation, but a very important admission.
3. I've always happily accepted that some art/performance is better appreciated with the help of alcohol. But I don't think I've ever been honest enough to face up to the fact that much of the music I've busied myself with over the last decade and a half might actually be terrible. My memories of so many evenings are so tainted by beer that I rely on photos and other people's stories to "remember" them; my own recollections simply aren't reliable.
The more I get into this detox, the more convinced I am that I'm doing absolutely the right thing. I may still be in the first blush of commitment to a new relationship (this time, with abstinence), but right now I'm genuinely wondering if I'll ever drink regularly again. I could still smoke a cigarette right now this second though...
Saturday, 8 March 2008
Cat, bag, out of
OK, so last night at my flatmate's birthday bash I told loads of people about my little experiment. I was greeted with largely slack-jawed incomprehension and what looked, to my smug and pious eyes, a wee bit like envy. Well how about that? I assumed all I'd get would be laughter and a fresh pint.
Still, today I feel great, and everyone else is hungover as hell, and yet I still had a fantastic night topped off with a slightly off-piste fish curry. Well, they're my rules so I figure I can bend them now and again... after six pints of lime and soda, about nine cigarettes avoided while standing in a courtyard surrounded by probably 50+ people puffing away, one poppadom and a much-needed fresh lassi didn't feel like too much of a betrayal.
Ooh, meant to say - one problem I'd not expected but have had to deal with in a big way has been aggression. It turns out that even though I've barely smoked in the daytime for the last two years, the nicotine I've managed to cram in of an evening has been doing a fine job of suppressing a lot of antisness I never knew I possessed.
At work on Wednesday I punched my PC keyboard so hard in frustration at its (admittedly absolutely unbelievably shit) slowness that it actually started squealing at full volume till I forced a reboot. I was screaming at the monitor and the whole office was apparently staring at me with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
I've been snapping at all and sundry as well - and for the last two years I've prided myself on my relatively calm, Zen demeanour! Surely cigarettes can't have been switching off that much of my emotions? And I thought it was the therapy!
Still, today I feel great, and everyone else is hungover as hell, and yet I still had a fantastic night topped off with a slightly off-piste fish curry. Well, they're my rules so I figure I can bend them now and again... after six pints of lime and soda, about nine cigarettes avoided while standing in a courtyard surrounded by probably 50+ people puffing away, one poppadom and a much-needed fresh lassi didn't feel like too much of a betrayal.
Ooh, meant to say - one problem I'd not expected but have had to deal with in a big way has been aggression. It turns out that even though I've barely smoked in the daytime for the last two years, the nicotine I've managed to cram in of an evening has been doing a fine job of suppressing a lot of antisness I never knew I possessed.
At work on Wednesday I punched my PC keyboard so hard in frustration at its (admittedly absolutely unbelievably shit) slowness that it actually started squealing at full volume till I forced a reboot. I was screaming at the monitor and the whole office was apparently staring at me with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
I've been snapping at all and sundry as well - and for the last two years I've prided myself on my relatively calm, Zen demeanour! Surely cigarettes can't have been switching off that much of my emotions? And I thought it was the therapy!
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Paradox City
Giving up all my vices at once is presenting all manner of unexpected problems. But I've now realised, at least, what was probably obvious to everyone else ages ago - that the booze lies at the root of all my other lifestyle shortcomings.
When I drink, I smoke. I very rarely smoke in daylight and almost exclusively when either drinking, drunk of hungover. And when I drink, I get weird compulsions, like the alcoholic equivalent of pregnancy cravings, to eat food I know is a. hugely bad for me and b. of no nutritional value whatsoever.
So if I stop drinking, theoretically I should stop eating so much crap and shake off the desire to smoke, in one fell swoop. But here lies the paradox. Not drinking, especially when in company, seems over the last couple of days to have thrown up a whole new and unexpected occupational hazard: boredom.
I'm BORED. And basically, I'm never bored. So what's going on?
This experiment is making me face up to a lot of aspects of my life I've not cared to address for many years. Why do I drink? Why do I smoke? Why do I feel the need to go out six nights out of seven? Is it, as I now suspect, some evil combination of "keeping up with the Joneses", "stay ahead of the curve", "prove to everyone how committed and hardcore I still am" and worst of all, "yeah, I've still got it, party like it's 1995"?
How very depressing.
When I drink, I smoke. I very rarely smoke in daylight and almost exclusively when either drinking, drunk of hungover. And when I drink, I get weird compulsions, like the alcoholic equivalent of pregnancy cravings, to eat food I know is a. hugely bad for me and b. of no nutritional value whatsoever.
So if I stop drinking, theoretically I should stop eating so much crap and shake off the desire to smoke, in one fell swoop. But here lies the paradox. Not drinking, especially when in company, seems over the last couple of days to have thrown up a whole new and unexpected occupational hazard: boredom.
I'm BORED. And basically, I'm never bored. So what's going on?
This experiment is making me face up to a lot of aspects of my life I've not cared to address for many years. Why do I drink? Why do I smoke? Why do I feel the need to go out six nights out of seven? Is it, as I now suspect, some evil combination of "keeping up with the Joneses", "stay ahead of the curve", "prove to everyone how committed and hardcore I still am" and worst of all, "yeah, I've still got it, party like it's 1995"?
How very depressing.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
In your face, Chicken Cottage
I've walked past my local fried chicken emporium about nine times this weekend, and not even felt vaguely tempted to go in. Suddenly, all I can smell in its vicinity is grease and general yeuch.
This weekend I've done amazing things. I've eaten five pieces of fruit, several rice cakes, some tasty veggie food in Covent Garden, some lovely bioyoghurt and a HUGE mixed salad that I remarkably made myself (a first - I know, I am so bad). I felt so clear-headed this afternoon that I even cleaned the bathroom! I don't know what's wrong with me.
In fairness, I have been cheating a bit. I've thought about cigarettes about 2437 times in the last two days, but apart from the "waiting for a bus" fag, I haven't really put myself in my classic smoking situations. I didn't go out last night, and although I popped to the pub this afternoon, I managed to avoid beer (and thus fags) by pleading detox. Yes, I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone, but these weren't people I was ever going to meet again (long story).
Do I really feel full now? Well, oddly, yes I do. A bowl of soup and some squash, and a banana and a nectarine, and all's good. No meat, no wheat, no shit, no nonsense.
Well, a bit of nonsense.
This weekend I've done amazing things. I've eaten five pieces of fruit, several rice cakes, some tasty veggie food in Covent Garden, some lovely bioyoghurt and a HUGE mixed salad that I remarkably made myself (a first - I know, I am so bad). I felt so clear-headed this afternoon that I even cleaned the bathroom! I don't know what's wrong with me.
In fairness, I have been cheating a bit. I've thought about cigarettes about 2437 times in the last two days, but apart from the "waiting for a bus" fag, I haven't really put myself in my classic smoking situations. I didn't go out last night, and although I popped to the pub this afternoon, I managed to avoid beer (and thus fags) by pleading detox. Yes, I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone, but these weren't people I was ever going to meet again (long story).
Do I really feel full now? Well, oddly, yes I do. A bowl of soup and some squash, and a banana and a nectarine, and all's good. No meat, no wheat, no shit, no nonsense.
Well, a bit of nonsense.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
Sisyphus had nothing on me
I'm hungover to all hell and I've deliberately, doggedly spent the last two days stuffing my body with as many toxins as I can: greasy fried bacon, mayonnaise-slathered sandwiches, battered fried miserable battery chicken and chips, cigarettes galore, a good 12 pints of bitter, lager and cider - all culminating in last night's crowning glory of a 13-inch pizza (all to myself) with ham, pepperoni, onion, green peppers and extra bacon. And a can of Strongbow. I crawled to bed at 2am, happy I'd done my job well.
Just reading that back makes me feel a bit queasy now. I figured if I was going to knock my shit diet and lifestyle on the head, I may as well do it in "style". But now I'm suffering. I want a fag, I'd happily chow down on the packet of Pringles winking at me enticingly from the kitchen, and I've already allowed my mind to wander forwards to this evening, when I'd usually have a delicious, greasy Chinese takeaway.
But no. This morning I bought a job lot of Actimel, some nectarines, some bananas and a big tub of pro-biotic yoghurt. And some sesame-flavoured (peppered? Not sure) rice cakes. So even if I'm starving, at least I'll be regular. My distended belly looks bigger than ever as I type this - it'll be nice to be able to see my belt at some point.
The thing is, though, I'm not actually fat as such. As an American friend said to me in response to one of my drunken self-pitying "I hate my body" whinges, "Honestly, you're not fat. You don't know what fat is till you've been to Texas". And she's got a point.
I'm not the skinny bean I was 10 years ago - in fact, I'm nearly four stone heavier - but I'm not technically fat. I'm just in dreadful shape and I've been abusing my body almost constantly since then.
So it's all my fault! Hurrah. But now I'm thinking, well, if I can do all this damage to myself and still be standing, then I can repair the damage myself as well.
As long as I don't have to do it by taking any exercise, I'll be fine :-) That's pert of this experiment: to see if I can lose weight without exercising at all, and to zero in on the specific aspects of my lifestyle that make me feel bloated, sluggish, lethargic and sweaty.
Obviously, it's beer and curry, but let's just pretend it isn't for now...
Just reading that back makes me feel a bit queasy now. I figured if I was going to knock my shit diet and lifestyle on the head, I may as well do it in "style". But now I'm suffering. I want a fag, I'd happily chow down on the packet of Pringles winking at me enticingly from the kitchen, and I've already allowed my mind to wander forwards to this evening, when I'd usually have a delicious, greasy Chinese takeaway.
But no. This morning I bought a job lot of Actimel, some nectarines, some bananas and a big tub of pro-biotic yoghurt. And some sesame-flavoured (peppered? Not sure) rice cakes. So even if I'm starving, at least I'll be regular. My distended belly looks bigger than ever as I type this - it'll be nice to be able to see my belt at some point.
The thing is, though, I'm not actually fat as such. As an American friend said to me in response to one of my drunken self-pitying "I hate my body" whinges, "Honestly, you're not fat. You don't know what fat is till you've been to Texas". And she's got a point.
I'm not the skinny bean I was 10 years ago - in fact, I'm nearly four stone heavier - but I'm not technically fat. I'm just in dreadful shape and I've been abusing my body almost constantly since then.
So it's all my fault! Hurrah. But now I'm thinking, well, if I can do all this damage to myself and still be standing, then I can repair the damage myself as well.
As long as I don't have to do it by taking any exercise, I'll be fine :-) That's pert of this experiment: to see if I can lose weight without exercising at all, and to zero in on the specific aspects of my lifestyle that make me feel bloated, sluggish, lethargic and sweaty.
Obviously, it's beer and curry, but let's just pretend it isn't for now...
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
And so it begins
At 00.31 on Wed 27 February, having just got home from a night out during which I drank seven pints of cider, saw three bands, ate two sausage rolls, smoked 10 cigarettes and slurred one lengthy and largely incomprehensible rant into one friend's undeserving voicemail inbox, I sent the following text message to one of my best friends:
"On Saturday 1 March I'm giving up alcohol, cigarettes, takeaways, meat, processed snacks, recreational drugs and all sundry excess for a month. It's a big stupid idiot test of me. You're the only person I'm telling. I don't want your help but I may need your support. Is it OK to burden you with this?"
She said yes, and I thanked my lucky stars my friends are so ace.
You won't hear from me again until Saturday. Between now and then, I've decided to eat as much fast food crap as I can handle, smoke till I can't speak and generally make the most of my last few numbered hours of bodily freedom. Is it possible to stock up on MSG and nicotine? I sure as hell hope so.
Today I ate a sausage bagel, a cheeseburger, a huge packet of Cadbury's mini eggs and a bloody great bowl of spicy Chinese pork and greasy noodles. Only two fags though, must try not to let the side down tomorrow...
"On Saturday 1 March I'm giving up alcohol, cigarettes, takeaways, meat, processed snacks, recreational drugs and all sundry excess for a month. It's a big stupid idiot test of me. You're the only person I'm telling. I don't want your help but I may need your support. Is it OK to burden you with this?"
She said yes, and I thanked my lucky stars my friends are so ace.
You won't hear from me again until Saturday. Between now and then, I've decided to eat as much fast food crap as I can handle, smoke till I can't speak and generally make the most of my last few numbered hours of bodily freedom. Is it possible to stock up on MSG and nicotine? I sure as hell hope so.
Today I ate a sausage bagel, a cheeseburger, a huge packet of Cadbury's mini eggs and a bloody great bowl of spicy Chinese pork and greasy noodles. Only two fags though, must try not to let the side down tomorrow...
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