Reunions

One of the (many) miracles that has occurred since I quit drinking is the number of old friends who have reappeared in my life.

These are friends I'd thought lost for ever, who I hadn't seen or heard from for twenty or thirty years and yet, through a series of chance encounters and coincidences, they are back, and this time I'm hanging on.

It's awesome. I feel like an battered old jigsaw puzzle that for decades has had a few key pieces missing, but gradually they're being slotted back into place.

The latest of these lost friends is V. We were great mates at Cambridge University. We did the May Balls, punting and double dates. We got each other through the trauma of Finals. We went on holiday together. And yet, just a few years after we graduated, we totally lost touch.

Looking back, it was entirely my fault.

The last time we saw each other properly was at V's flat. She'd invited me to a dinner party with her and her boyfriend (now husband), and about five other guests.

I'd just started dating a man (boy?) who I was totally besotted by. He wanted me to join him and some other friends in a nightclub in Notting Hill. He kept calling me on my newly acquired mobile 'phone (they were a rare and miraculous thing in those days). I kept leaving the dinner table, mid conversation, to take his calls.

As soon as dinner was finished, perhaps before, I hotfooted it to the club. I barely said goodbye. I'm quite sure I never sent a thank you letter.

The truth is I was far too caught up in a whirlwind of booze, romance and danger, and V, with her steady relationship, serious career and grown up life, just wasn't on my wavelength.

Needless to say, she didn't call me again. I don't think I even noticed until a year or two had passed by. Then I shrugged and moved on.

I know what you're thinking: I was not a very nice person. I agree.

Anyhow, another old University friend who I've re-met recently, and who has rapidly become one of my besties all over again, bumped into V last weekend, and she's invited me round for tea.

To be honest, had I received this invitation back in the drinking days I would have been terrified. I probably wouldn't have gone.

I loathed seeing people I'd not seen for years. I hated the way their eyes would widen involuntarily before they had a chance to manage the outward displays of the shock of seeing me two stone heavier.

I was conscious of the fact that I'd always been a hugely optimistic, ambitious live wire, yet now I.... wasn't. I was depressed and bitter.

But now? I'm thrilled. I can't wait to catch up.

Incredibly, I'm back to my university weight, so look more like my old self than I have for decades. No more embarrassing silences followed by "You look really.... well." (Code for: "You look a bit.... fat.")

(See my post: Reasons to Quit Drinking #1: Weight Loss)

And, more importantly, I've rediscovered my joie de vivre. In short, I am me again.

I'm also a much better friend. The last year has really taught me the value of strong friendships and I'm not messing up this time.

So hurrah! And happy sober weekends to you all!

SM x

Sober House Party

Saturday night was a friend's birthday party.

She'd invited fourteen of the old University gang to her house in the country for dinner, and to stay the night. We'd all managed to offload the children, so it was a rare 'grown ups only' event.

I took a six pack of the trusty Beck's Blues down with me, and stashed them in the hostess's fridge.

And you know what? I've pretty much cracked the whole partying sober thing.

For a start, it really helps when you feel physically good, which after eleven months off the booze you do.

(Click here for more on quitting drinking and losing weight).

I didn't feel totally 'hot', but did feel, at the very least, 'warm.' I wore a red lace dress, and, according to Mr SM, everybody said I looked great (admittedly, they hadn't seen me since the whole cancer thing, so their expectations were probably pretty low).

I happily drank my AF beers before dinner. Then, once we'd sat down, I let them pour me a glass of red wine, but just drank the water. (People feel edgy if their dinner companion has an empty glass. So long as it's full, they don't care, or notice, if you drink it or not).

I had great fun at dinner catching up with old friends, then I won a table football tournament hands down (easy when the opposition are all drunk), and did lots of silly dancing.

Plus, I discovered that I have a new role at parties. People want to talk to me. They offload. They ask advice. This hasn't happened to me for years! No-one wants an in depth conversation with the out of control lush....

I talked to one friend about his insomnia, another about her new business ideas and yearning to escape London, and a third about being a step mum. Proper, life enhancing conversations that I still remember!

Then, at about 1.30am I sloped off to bed, knowing that no-one would notice, and that the only bit of the party I was missing was the bit that no-one would recall clearly.

And the morning!

A house full of hangovers. What a treat. I tried really hard not to feel smug, because that would be mean and unsympathetic of me.

I failed.

As I left, the hostess gave me a hug and said "I feel awful. I think I may join you on the whole no booze thing...."

We picked the children up from my parents' house, and took them out for lunch.

I was eulogising about the fact that Pizza Express have started stocking alcohol free beer (Vive La Revolution!)

#2 piped up "Mummy, how long has it been since you had any wine?"

"Nearly a year, sweetheart," I replied. "Why? Do you prefer it when I don't drink wine? Am I different?"

"Yes," he replied, "you're more....."

We all waited in anticipation, while he searched for an appropriate adjective. Beautiful? Patient? Kind?

"......Mummyish," he concluded with a flourish.

So, there you have it. Quit drinking. You'll still have a ball at parties, and you'll be more.... Mummyish.

Love SM x

Making Amends

A few days back, I mentioned that this time last year - also on holiday in Cornwall - my Mum told me she was worried about my drinking. She also said that I needed to lose weight.

I was, obviously, very aware that she was right on both counts. So, you'd think that I would agree with her, thank her for her maternal concern and resolve to take action.

You'd be wrong. I threw all my toys out of the pram. I accused her of being cruel, ignorant and hypocritical. I stomped off to my room with a goblet of wine and then made snide remarks for the rest of the week.

When I wrote about this, almost in passing, you lot jumped on it and told me - quite rightly - that I should apologise to my poor mother and tell her she was right.

I have to confess that the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. Isn't that awful?

We don't really do 'talking about emotional stuff' in my family. In fact, I wonder whether the British 'stiff upper lip' thing is part of the reason we're so renowned for drunkenness. We need some way of dealing with the emotions we feel unable to display or discuss.

My reaction was: that was twelve months ago. Water under the bridge. It's obvious that I'm sorry and she was right - look at me! A stone (14 pounds, 7 kilos) lighter, and nearly 6 months sober - obviously I took it on board...

But saying sorry is the right thing to do. It's good karma. It's what we teach our children. And I know, from my kids, that a belated apology usually means more, and is more thought through, than a knee jerk one at the time.

One of the cornerstones of AA (still haven't been; still planning to) is 'making amends'. The Big Book states that in order to achieve freedom and serenity you need to make peace with the past.

Likewise, Beck - in his book 'Alcohol Lied to Me' (it's good, if a little preachy and irritating at times) is adamant that 'living in the present' is key to success. He states that worrying about the past or the future gets in the way.

So, I've been trying to find the right time to say sorry. I kept putting it off. It stuck in my throat. I was fighting against years of conditioning.

Eventually I cornered my poor Mum in the kitchen.

"I've been meaning to say something to you," I blurted out.

She looked startled. Like a hedgehog in the headlights.

"When you told me last year that I drank too much and was too fat I was horrible to you. I made you cry. But you were right, and I'm sorry."

"Gosh, I'd forgotten about that," she said (probably fibbing), looking stunned but rather....chuffed. "I'm sorry if I was a little blunt. But look at you now! I'm so proud of you - what willpower. You really don't want to turn into a slob."

(I'm aware that my Mum hadn't got a handle on the real issue. Her major concern was me 'letting myself go', but I don't think that matters).

We hugged. We coughed in a rather embarrassed fashion. We carried on chopping vegetables and changed the subject.

But I feel a weight off my shoulders. And I think I made my Mum really happy.

'Making amends' is about more than saying sorry - it's about putting things right. But I know that, as far as my Mum's concerned, quitting the drink (and, as a result, losing the weight) is all the reparation she wanted.

So, all is good with the Universe, and I hope all is good with you too....

Thank you for making me do that. As always, you were right.

Love SM x