There was a time I’d swear off the drink for the month.
Indeed, I occasionally had a dry January too.
And if I was feeling particularly holy (or smug) I’d stay off alcohol for the entire length of Lent.
Yes, I’ve done it. And as Pee Flynn said about being very wealthy and owning three houses: “It’s not easy, you should try it some time.”
I didn’t swear off the gargle this November because there was no real need. My health problems ensured that a couple of egg cups of wine was about my limit this year.
There are those who didn’t and maybe still don’t believe I can do a month teetotal.
For example, many years ago, I told some of my colleagues in the Indo, that I was going to “do November.”
They laughed. They didn’t believe I could. And so there was a wager.
Could have been as much as a fiver a man – and a fiver was about was about three pints back then.
I still went to the pub with them every day and had a cup of tea or a glass of water.
Fair enough, I admit occasionally counting their drinks and making little remarks like “That’s your fourth pint,” or “you told the same joke yesterday.”
When I say “occasionally” I mean all the time, to be honest.
Anyway, one day around the middle of the month, I went into the pub as usual.
The lads were there. And there was a sum of money on the counter.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s the bet,” they said.
“But, sure it’s only the middle of the month, a couple of weeks to go.”
“Look,” they said, “the bet’s off. Take the money. Have a drink. You win.”
I was delighted and ordered a pint.
“So. Why did you do that lads?” I asked smiling.
“We did it because you’re an even bigger pain in the arse sober than you are drunk.”
And I had to work with these guys.