Some Great Reading

I'm madly packing this morning for our annual trip to Cornwall. Buckets and spades, surfing and ice-creams, cliff walks and caves. Can't wait!

(The three children aren't being much help on the packing front. They are horribly overexcited about having found a Special K which looks exactly like Ukraine, and are busy posting photos on Instagram).

I thought I'd leave you with some of the best things I've read this week....

The first, sent to me by lovely C, now 7 months sober, is for anyone who was interested in last week's debate on the word 'alcoholic'. It's a fabulous piece from Holly at Hip Sobriety entitled: My name's Holly and I'm not an alcoholic (because no-one is). Click here to read it.

I also have two blog recommendations.

Anyone who hasn't already met Lily at alcoholfree2016.com should check her out here, and here is a fabulous new blog from mommyisaquitter who is currently wading her way through Day 5. Pop on over and give them both a virtual hug.

Finally, I had an e-mail from J, which she said I could share.

J tells a story about accidentally taking a sip of real booze and how much it messes with your head, which I can relate to. I vividly remember getting my Beck's Blue confused with a real beer back in the early days.

Here's J's story:

Dear SM
I just thought I would contact you to recount an event which may be of interest to others on the sober journey : My reaction has  rather staggered me ….

We were last week on a river cruise (40 years married) I had thought through my strategy to resist temptation and to have a fab sober time.

All was going well (harder work that I had expected with lovely elegant wine glasses laid out each lunch and dinner and waiters/waitresses constantly topping up chilled whites and ruby reds:  However they served Becks Blue on request, so that was lunch sorted and Fever Tree Ginger beer with lots of ice was working with dinner.

Part of my strategy was to enjoy a non alcoholic cocktail at the pre dinner drinks - and credit due, there were 4 to chose from.  ‘Virgin Mary’ was very nice (don’t know that the stick of celery added anything :-) ‘Shirley Temple' also very nice.  Then I thought to try a ‘Cucumber Fizz’ - well it took a while to arrive and when it did one sip shouted out GIN!! 

I gave it to my husband to confirm and we sent it back ….. then the strangest thing … I thought ‘Shit I am going to cry’ !!!  I took a walk round the deck really struggling.  I rallied for dinner with the new friends we had made (interestingly no comments had been made that I always had soft drinks and I didn’t say anything either).

The next morning I woke up weepy and was so for the most of the morning and typing this am filling up a bit.  My husband said that one sip didn’t spoil my record of 325 days.  I hadn’t thought of that but was a bit scared the one sip had let the wine witch reassert herself.  However logic told me that the one tiny sip was not enough to let her back. 

So my only conclusion is that some sort of mental switch was thrown - a grieving process??  I don’t know.  I do feel a bit cross that this happened but don’t know if I am cross with the bar staff’s error or my reaction.

So my reasons for emailing - I guess just to share the event, maybe others have had similar and are just as confused and this 63 year old Granma who is actually thoroughly enjoying every minute of being sober.
Oh well there we have it - onwards and upwards (my younger son is taking me on a trip up the Brighton 360 to celebrate my first year sober) how wonderful is that!!

Huge congratulations to J on 40 years of marriage and on 325 days sober. What incredible achievements. You rock, J.

And so do all of you.

Love SM x

I Don't Want a Fight With AA

I had an old friend round for lunch yesterday.

She's an amazing woman, who has dealt with issues that would break many people, but has come out stronger.

For a few years, L lived with a cocaine addict. She saw, up close and personal, how drugs can destroy the lives of the user and those who love them.

As a result, once she'd found the strength to get away, she re-trained as a psychotherapist and an addiction counsellor.

I am in awe of the people who not only survive their own life traumas, but then use them to help others.

So, a while back, I gave L the name of my blog. She never told me whether she'd read it or what she thought of it.

Then, yesterday, L said "I read your blog."

"Oh yes?" I replied.

"I have to say, I don't like your refusal to use the word 'alcoholic.'" She said.

I imagine she was referring to this post: Am I an alcoholic?

Then she continued, "there are an awful lot of people who feel the same as me."

"I have no issue with anyone using the term 'alcoholic' if they find it helpful," I explained, "it's just that I don't. I think it's one of the reasons why so many people find it difficult to confess to having a problem and asking for help. We're worried about being judged."

But the truth is that anyone who is a member of, or works with, AA feels hugely strongly about the A word, and I'm not sure that I can take them all on. I don't want to have a fight with AA - I think they're an amazing institution doing an incredible job.

But I know that I, and many of my readers, feel strongly about this issue too. I am very happy (well, sort of) to stand up on national television and confess to drinking a bottle of wine a day. I'm happy to confess to being an alcohol addict.

But I'm not happy to say "I am an alcoholic." I don't believe I have a disease. I think I became addicted to an addictive drug, the same way I did to cigarettes, back in the day.

I found it much easier to say 'I have cancer' (when I was diagnosed with breast cancer 18 months ago) than I do 'I am an alcoholic.'

The truth is, people sympathise with cancer victims, but they assume that women who are 'alcoholics' are weak, diseased, and terrible mothers who neglect their children while they pour vodka on their cornflakes.

Surely the words I use are a personal choice?

It seems extraordinary that one word can cause so much trouble. But it will....

Is this really a good idea?

Love SM

Am I an Alcoholic?

Whenever I tell people that I don't drink (which I do quite happily now), one of the first questions I'm asked is "are you an alcoholic?"

This question is usually accompanied by a hard, concerned stare, and is whispered. It's the same tone in which someone might ask "do you have genital herpes?" or "is it cancer?"

(I know this, because I did actually have cancer. And, I tell you what, admitting to cancer is an awful lot easier than admitting to not drinking. I would merrily tell my hairdresser, a traffic warden, pretty much anyone about my cancer, but it took at least six months of not drinking to be able to confess to that!)

And the problem with being asked are you an alcoholic? is that I never know what to say.

I hate the word. It comes loaded with such negative imagery. People assume that alcoholics are diseased, weak, doomed, bad mothers, untrustworthy and unstable - or at least that's what I think they're thinking.

I think the word is damaging, because we try so hard to deny being an alcoholic that we carry on drinking for way longer than we should. Only rock bottom feels worse than admitting to that lifelong curse.

This isn't a case of me being in denial. I am happy to confess that I AM AN ADDICT. And, as a result, I CAN NEVER DRINK AGAIN. But, confess to being an alcoholic? No thank you.

This is a bit of an issue, as when I start having to do the publicity for my book it's a question I'm bound to be asked publically.

I don't want to give the impression that I'm ashamed of my addiction. I'm not. Or that I think I'm different from self-proclaimed alcoholics - I'm not. Nor do I want to run down AA, which is an incredible institution. It's just not a label that I agree with, like or find helpful.

So, here are my questions to all of you (answers in the comments below, please!)

Do you describe yourself an alcoholic? Do you find the terminology helpful? If not, what do you prefer to say? And, when I'm asked 'are you an alcoholic?' what do you think I should say?

Really looking forward to hearing your views!

Love SM x

Stephen King on Booze

We are in Scotland for the festive period, hunkered down around blazing fires, keeping out storm Brenda who is raging outside.

(Don't you just love the names they pick for storms? Brenda sounds like she'd be more at home in the Bingo Hall or with a knitting circle rather than flooding roads and knocking down power lines).

Whenever I get to take a break from the frenetic Christmas supermarket shopping and last minute present buying and wrapping, I've been reading Stephen King's book: On Writing.

I bought this book because it was about writing. Little did I know, it also covers King's alcoholism, about which he writes brilliantly.

King says that when he first realised that he was an alcoholic his immediate reaction was to be incredibly careful not to let anyone know, otherwise someone would tell him to get control of his drinking.

Telling an alcoholic to control his drinking, he writes, is like telling a guy suffering the world's most cataclysmic case of diarrhoea to control his shitting.

Eew, but we know what he means, don't we?

King says it's been almost twelve years since I took a drink, and I'm still struck by disbelief when I see someone with a half-finished glass of wine near at hand. I want to get up, go over, and yell 'Finish that! Why don't you finish that?' into his or her face. I found the idea of social drinking ludicrous - if you didn't want to get drunk, why not have a Coke?

Well, quite.

But the really fascinating thing about King's story is how his subconscious was crying for help through his writing.

It was, apparently, many years before King realised that the alcoholic writer and ex-schoolteacher who starred in The Shining was actually himself. He had been up to his neck in denial, but somewhere, deep inside his brain, in the part that writes the stories, he knew.

Ten years later, in 1986, he wrote Misery, a title, he says, which accurately described his state of mind. The hero - a writer again - is tortured by a psychotic nurse. The nurse, Annie Wilkes, he says (with the benefit of hindsight) was coke, Annie was booze, and I decided that I was tired of being Annie's pet writer.

The book which followed Misery was Tommyknockers, which King says he wrote with cotton swabs stuck up his nose to stop blood from his cocaine ravaged nostrils dripping all over his typewriter keys.

In this novel, alien creatures get inside your head and start messing about in there. The upside to this alien activity for the host is boundless energy and a superficial intelligence, but in exchange they give their soul. King writes it was the best metaphor for drugs and alcohol my tired, overstressed mind could come up with.

So, if you're tempted tomorrow to have just the one glass of wine with your Christmas lunch, then remember that alcohol is not your best friend, your greatest fan; she is a crazy obsessive with a penchant for amputation (or 'hobbling' in the film version). She will get inside your head and she will steal your soul.

Get the hell out of there before it's too late.

(If you need more motivation, then read this one: Relapse Stories)

Love to you all, and have a very, very merry (but sober) Christmas! It'll be awesome! See you on the other side....

SM x

P.S. I've just been told that the storm is actually Barbara, not Brenda. Still more redolent of home knitted jumpers and self sufficiency than 100mph winds....

Hurrah for Gin

Finally, after eight whole weeks of summer madness, the kids go back to school today.

I'm up stupidly early in anticipation.

The uniforms are laid out and labelled. Pencil cases are stocked with newly sharpened pencils, pristine erasers and unblemished protractors.

I've shaken the sand out of their ears, blasted stubborn verruccas (my spell check thinks this should be verrucae) off their feet and had their hair cut.

We are good to go.

When I quit work after #3 was born, nearly eight years ago, I thought I'd be the perfect Mum.

The house would be filled with fresh flowers and the aroma of cup cakes baking. It'd be craft tables, not TV, laughter filled outings to museums and perfectly delivered introductions with eye contact.

How the Gods must have chuckled.

Instead, I was sucked into an exhausting Groundhog day of wiping orifices, peeling dried spaghetti and Rice Krispies off floors and ceilings and dealing with tantrums, all set to the soundtrack of The Wiggles and punctuated with endless re-readings of the Gruffalo.

So I totally get the latest trend (spearheaded by the movie Bad Moms) for tales of 'imperfect mothers.'

According to the Sunday Times, this Christmas's bestseller is going to be one of these, titled Hurrah for Gin.

Hurrah for Gin is based on a blog written by a 26 year old Mum of two who's on maternity leave from her job in advertising.

It's exactly the book I would have written ten years ago (when I was also in advertising and on maternity leave with a toddler and a baby). And it struck me that it's like the prequel to this blog.

(Except my book would be titled Hurrah for Chablis. My only saving grace was not having developed a taste for spirits).

And the title is perfect. Because when you're in the trenches of motherhood, alcohol provides those much needed oases of calm.

For me, a glass of wine could put the zing into a late afternoon playdate with a girlfriend, and the zen into post children's bed time. At the end of a long, frazzled day I could pour a glass of wine, dance around the kitchen and think yeah, baby, she's still got it.

But the problem with relying on vino, or gin, to relax, to de-stress, to feel adult, is that one day - maybe a decade down the line - you find that you can't relax, de-stress or feel adult without it.

And that's when you stop reading Hurrah for Gin! and start reading Mummy was a Secret Drinker.

So I do rather worry about yet another book which normalises relying on an addictive drug to get through the realities of everyday life. After all, I am the cautionary tale.

Love SM.

P.S. If you'd like a male perspective on all of this, then click here to check out my new friend, Makeittea.

And thank you, Makeittea, for your incredibly generous donation to my Justgiving page for breast cancer support (www.justgiving.com/fundraising/sober-mummy).

Bridget Jones

I got up at dawn yesterday to pack up our rented holiday cottage in Cornwall before the 10am deadline.

By the time the children emerged, bleary eyed and mussy-haired, from their lairs, I'd got all the suitcases and bags shoehorned into the car, leaving them with a change of clothes for the journey, and just enough space to sit in.

(At least #3 didn't have to perch on top of a case of Beck's Blue like she did on the way down).

"MUMMY!" Wails #1. "I HAVEN'T GOT A BRA!"

At this point I lose it.

"YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY DOLLY PARTON ABOUT TO GO JOGGING!" I yell back at #1.

But she fixes me with that baleful, nearly-teenage glare, until I go and unpack her suitcase from the car, like playing Jenga with surfboards, buckets and sundry kitchen items, and retrieve the crucial piece of clothing.

Eventually, we're driving over the A4 flyover into London, and there it is. A giant poster proclaiming that BRIDGET JONES'S BABY is about to hit our cinema screens.

And I'm hit by a wave of nostalgia.

I loved Bridget. I loved her neuroses, her imperfections and her granny knickers.

I loved her humour and the way she cut through all the 'emotional fuckwittery.' And I loved the way she ate like a normal woman, smoked like a chimney and drank like a trooper.

I loved Bridget because I pretty much was Bridget.

So much so, that when the BBC were looking for people to 'star' in a documentary about the 'real life Bridget Joneses' they called me.

I flatly refused, despite a fair amount of arm twisting, to let a camera crew follow me around town for a week, but I did agree to take part in a small segment of the film - a single's dinner party.

I turned up, along with seven other 'singles' at the appointed Chelsea restaurant, and was told that the film crew would be a while setting up, "so do, please, help yourself to free drinks at the bar."

An hour later, nervous and tanked up with booze on empty stomachs, we were all flying. At least, I was.

In a herculean effort to stand up for the rights of women to be single and happy, I waved my wine glass around and proclaimed "Look. I've got a great job, a really cool car, and I own my own flat. Why on earth would I need a man to make myself complete?" Job done. Or so I thought.

I wasn't expecting anyone to actually see the documentary. My friends were all far too busy working and partying to be indoors watching TV on a Thursday night.

(And this was before the days of Sky Plus and Catch Up TV. You actually had to set a timer on your VHS machine, which was far too much hassle).

So, imagine my horror, when ALL WEEK, on prime time TV, the BBC ran a trailer.

There was only one person in the trailer: Me.

There I am, slightly tipsy, saying "Look. I've got a great job, a really cool car, and I own my own flat." Then the serious, male, voiceover cuts in: "So why can't these women find the one thing they really want: A MAN?"

Everyone saw it. Everyone saw me slapping feminism in the face and pronouncing myself un-whole.

But it didn't stop me loving Bridget.

After all, she gave us all an excuse to drink too much. She made downing gallons of Chardonnay with your friends cool. She made drinking home alone, holding a pity party for one, de rigeur.

So, what's Bridget up to now?

More of the same, apparently. Still drinking. Still going to nightclubs. Still looking for a man to make her emotionally stable.

Well that's all just bollocks.

For a start, I know - better than anyone else - that Bridget could not have drunk that amount of Chardonnay for the last twenty years without suffering some pretty major side effects.

One thing's for sure: she would NOT be the size two that Renne Zellweger portrays her as in the movie.

(I presume that Renee flatly refused to 'bulk up' to a normal size this time around).

And would a drunk, forty-something Bridget still be funny and endearing, or just a bit....sad?

I like to think that lovely Bridget would have learned something over the past two decades.

I think she'd be a brilliant, funny, imperfect mother. I think she'd have a not-always-perfect, but kind and forgiving marriage.

And I think she'd be sober. (Let's face it, moderation would never be Bridget's thing).

Love to all you proper Bridgets out there.

SM x

P.S. That was my 400th blog post. If you'd like to read from post #1 then click here.

Nina is not OK

I didn't drink dangerously as a teenager.

Don't get me wrong - I loved drinking. I loved the buzz it gave me at parties, the way it made me feel more. More beautiful, more interesting, more naughty.

I loved sharing a bottle of carefully chosen wine over dinner with a date, or while setting the world to rights late at night with a girlfriend.

But I didn't like the feeling of being really drunk - feeling sick or out of control. So, when I'd had a few glasses I just.... stopped. Simples.

It wasn't until my mid thirties that my drinking started to morph from 'social' to 'hazardous'. Because by then I could drink a whole bottle of vino without feeling particularly drunk.

And by the time I hit my mid forties I was drinking a bottle of wine every single day. More sometimes. (Often).

Knowing what I know now about alcohol addiction, I worry about my children, and how they'll cope when they start playing with booze.

So, when I read a review of a new young adult novel by Shappi Khorsandi called Nina is not OK, I knew I had to buy it.

Nina is seventeen and, like all her friends, loves to party, and to drink. But she has no off switch.

Nina is gorgeous, funny and clever. She has a five year old sister who she loves passionately, and desperately wants to protect. And yet, after a few drinks she changes. Her eyes go dead, and it's as if Nina has left the building.

Every time she gets drunk and does something awful she swears she'll never touch booze again, but by about 5pm the next day her resolve falters.

Drinking makes her life increasingly unmanageable, but the more difficult it becomes, the more she relies on the booze to deal with all the emotions it's unleashed.

Sound familiar?

Then combine all that with the hormones, insecurity and recklessness that come with being a teenager, and chuck in an omnipresent and judgemental social media, and you end up with an incredibly disturbing (but scarily believable) tale.

Please read it.

And if you have a teenage daughter, then rather than sitting her down for one of those 'talks' about the dangers of drugs and alcohol that they dread as much as we do, just give her a copy of Shappi's novel.

It's a far better cautionary tale than either you or I could ever tell, and you won't have to endure all the eye rolling.

Love SM x

Falling Off the Wagon

I've had a number of e-mails and comments on the blog recently from people who've recently fallen off the wagon. Sometimes after just a few days, sometimes after months or years.

If that's you, and you're thinking aarrrgghhhh! Now what do I do? Then this post is for you....

A dive off the sober wagon generally starts with the same thought process. It goes something like this:

It's really not fair that everyone else is drinking and I'm not. It's summer/Christmas/my birthday/a funeral (delete as appropriate). I really deserve to be able to celebrate/commiserate/de-stress (delete as appropriate).

It's been AGES since I had a drink. By now I'll have 'reset' my relationship with booze. I'll be able to moderate! It's not as if I was a 'proper' alcoholic. I'll just have one, then stop. I'm older and wiser now. I know the dangers.....

Sound familiar?

So you have that one drink.

Now there are two ways that this can go. The end result is the same, but the path there is different.

Scenario One

You have that one drink and it's like coming home.

You think hello, old friend. I've missed you. 

But one isn't enough. It's just a teasing reminder of what you were looking for. A peak-a-boo from behind the fingers. So you have another. And another.

Before you know it you're on a bender. You wake up in the morning feeling terrible - physically destroyed and emotionally distraught. You know there's only one thing that can fix this terrible black hole: more booze....

Scenario Two

You have that one drink and you don't even enjoy it that much.

It tastes a bit like vinegar. Mouldy socks.

You think blimey, was that what all the fuss was about? Then you think yay! I'm cured! I don't even like booze much any more!

So, a week later, at another party, you feel confident enough to have another one. Actually, two this time.

Before too long you're drinking a glass or two most nights, and a bottle at weekends. Before much longer you're back to exactly where you started, dazed and bemused and thinking how on earth did I let that happen?

I know you'll be reading this thinking ah, but I'm different. We ALL think that we are different. Yet the main thing I've learned from this blog is how spookily similar we all are, despite our variations in ages, locations, nationalities and backgrounds.

So, if you've just fallen off the wagon, then here's what to do next...

Pick yourself off the highway, grab onto the chassis with both hands and haul yourself back up as quickly as you can.

The problem is that even one little drink kick starts the wine witch right back into action. After days, weeks, months or even years of training her to stay in her box and keep quiet, she's back with a vengeance.

In scenario one, she's saying: oopsy daisy. You've really blown it now. Never mind, you might as well go for it for a day or two and quit again next week when you've re-gathered your strength. You know you can quit again - you've done it before. Easy peasy!

In scenario two, she's saying: see! I told you so! You can moderate! You're a 'normal drinker'. Woo hoo. Carry on baby!

But the truth is the longer you carry on drinking, the stronger the wine witch gets, until before long quitting seems just as impossible a task as it did last time.

In fact, this time it's even harder to gather up the enthusiasm, the energy, the excitement. You know it's going to be tough and you just don't think you can face it right now.

(And now there's this little inner voice saying: you failed. You're useless. You'll never do this).

Perhaps next month, when things are a bit easier....

But if you climb right back on, as quickly as you can, you can treat it as a bump in the road, a cautionary tale, a salutary reminder. It'll be hard for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but you won't be back at square one, not by a long shot.

Check out the comments below, for relapse stories from lots of my readers. Do please add your own.

Onwards and upwards (and sometimes a little bit sideways),

SM x

P.S If you're a serial falling-off-the-wagoner, and can't get past the first few weeks, then please, please read this post: The Obstacle Course

The Sober Diaries, the warts and all story of my first year sober, is now out in paperback! Click here.

SM's Guide to Sober Summer Holidays

The British summer holidays are officially here, as evidenced by the fifteen hour traffic jams outside the ferry port of Dover this weekend.

We enthusiastic drinkers often fret a lot about doing a summer holiday sober.

Summer holidays are totally connected in our minds with images of sipping (did I say sipping? Who am I kidding?) glasses of chilled white wine outside a Greek Taverna, drinking cocktails while dancing to dodgy holiday tunes, or rediscovering the romance over a shared bottle of champagne.

Aaarrrggghhhh!

And the thing we really loved about summer holidays was the Summer Holiday Rules which, in my case, went something like this:

1. It's fine to drink as much as you want every evening because you're on holiday!

2. It's okay if you get drunk and behave really badly, because you can run away in a week or two leaving all those memories behind you.

3. It doesn't matter if you wake up with a terrible hangover, and are unable to do anything much for most of the day, because there's nothing you have to do anyway.

4. It's fine to drink at lunch time (every day), because that's totally normal behaviour in the Mediterranean.

5. It doesn't matter if 'lunch time' starts at about 11am, because you're on 'holiday time'.

So, summer holidays are dangerous times.

It's really easy to fall off the waggon because the wily old wine witch starts saying something like this:

Oh for f***s sake, you're on HOLIDAY! You deserve a drink or two. You've done so well! You proved you can do it, so you can do it again. Just drink while you're away. What goes on tour stays on tour, right? I won't tell anyone if you don't. You can quit THE MOMENT you leave. Or maybe the moment you get back (a drink or two on the 'plane would be nice ;-)).

Please don't listen. Because it won't work like that. You won't give up the minute you get back because it'll be too hard.

You'll feel down because of all the booze, and because you're back to reality, holiday over. You'll put it off for another few days, then another, then another.

Chances are it'll take a few months before you manage to re-gather all the strength and determination you need to quit again, and this time it'll be harder. It always is. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

The truth is that summer holidays without booze can be way better. Honestly.

Think about it. What are holidays really for?

They're for recharging the batteries, physically and emotionally, exploring new places, doing new things and reconnecting with family and/or friends. Right?

And all of those things are much easier to do sober than when you're endlessly drinking.

So, here are my top tips for having a fabulous, sober summer holiday:

1. Prepare.

Write a list of all the things you want to get out of your holiday, and remind yourself why they'll be easier to do sober.

Often the 'getting there' is the most stressful part of the holiday, so make sure you have your favourite alcohol free drink to hand for when you arrive.

(I always take a stash of Beck's Blue with me, but last year arrived at our rented cottage to discover there was no bottle opener. I ran around like a mad thing bashing my bottle over rocks, trying to dislodge the cap. This year I'm taking my own).

2. Love the mornings

Waking up in a beautiful place with no hangover, full of energy, and with no work to do is awesome!

So I go to bed pretty early on holiday and wake up shortly after dawn. The world is sleeping, it's just you and the birds, and that's the time when magic happens....

3. Look after yourself

Sober holidays are a great time to really recharge your body and soul.

Eat wonderful fresh food from the market. Get lots of exercise and fresh air. Take up yoga and/or meditation. You'll come home feeling (and looking) a million dollars, not all toxic and depressed.

(Try the yoga videos on YouTube, and the Headspace App for meditation. You'll feel much less of a pillock going all New Agey on a beach than you do in your kitchen at home).

4. Coping with cravings

The hardest times are when you're in a situation when you'd usually be drinking - like sitting outside a café, watching the sun set without a glass of wine.

So, if you get hit by a major craving, take yourself off as soon as you can, and do something that you do not associate with booze. Go swimming. Take a walk. Do that yoga. Have a nap. It'll pass....

5. Know the wine witch

You know what she's going to say (see above) at some point, or at several points during your vacation, so be prepared. Know what to say back. Know it's all lies.

But, the main thing, is to have a wonderful time. You've truly earned it.

Love SM x

Partners Who Drink

One of the questions I get asked most by e-mail is How can I quit drinking if my partner still drinks?

If you wait until you reach rock bottom before you try to quit, your partner, friends and loved ones (if they're still talking to you) are generally begging you to stop. It's obvious to everyone that you're slowly killing yourself.

However, if you - very wisely - decide to stop drinking well before you get to that point, you're more likely to be met with bemusement, antipathy, maybe even hostility.

I know that Mr SM thought I drank too much, as did my mother. Both of them had mentioned it, gently, once or twice. BUT neither of them expected me to actually quit. They wanted me to cut down. Moderate (ha ha). Be more like them.

Now I'm able to look at things with the benefit of hindsight, I thought it might be worth going through all the things we're scared of so I might be able to reassure you a little, if you are now where I was then.

1. He will not support me

The big question here is does he have a drink problem too?

If your partner is a 'normie' then you will probably find he is way more supportive than you expect. 'Fess up. Sit him down and tell him how bad the drink is making you feel. I bet he's been worried about you, or - if not - he will be by the time you've had that conversation!

Plus, here's an amazing thing you discover when you get sober - other people are WAY less bothered by alcohol than we are. 

For us, the idea of having a partner who DOESN'T DRINK was horrifying! No partner in crime - yikes! However, for them, drinking - or not drinking - is much more of a non-issue. A case of 'whatever.'

Even if your partner is a little apprehensive at first, they may well come to see the benefits. Mr SM loves the fact that he now drinks a lot less - he's slimmer, healthier and happier now that I'm not cajoling him into drinking half a bottle of wine every night.

HOWEVER, if your partner also has a drink problem, he will not like the idea of you quitting AT ALL. This will inevitably make your life a lot harder, as you'll probably have to deal with him trying to persuade you to 'just have the one', as well as the wine witch.

All I can advise here is that you stay strong. Remember why he's being unsupportive. It's not because he doesn't love you, it's because you're making him confront his own demons.

Remind yourself that you're doing this for yourself, and that, in doing so, you may also help him. The best way to persuade someone else to quit drinking isn't by nagging (as we all know, only too well) but by showing them that it's not only possible, but miraculous.

2. How can I quit when there's booze in the house?

I never emptied the booze cupboard or the wine racks. I also never asked Mr SM to stop drinking in front of me. I figured that the world is full of alcohol and of people drinking. We can't change that, so we might as well get used to it.

Plus I was worried that if I asked Mr SM to majorly change his own lifestyle he'd be less supportive.

Actually, within a pretty short space of time, Mr SM cut down on his own drinking and discovered a love of Becks Blue (I can get quite aggressive if I discover that he's drunk my stash), so he only drinks at home now a couple of times a week.

HOWEVER, if it is too tricky for you to deal with alcohol in the house, and being drunk under your nose, then I'd suggest asking your partner to not drink at home for a defined period of time. Maybe 100 days.

Setting a time limit makes it less of a scary imposition for them, and you may find that they are a LOT more sympathetic to you when they realise how tricky not drinking can be! Once the 100 days are up they may decide to join you, or - at least - to cut down significantly.

3. Will he still love me?

This was my biggest fear. A month into not drinking I wrote this post: Not the Girl he Married. I was terrified that I'd totally wreck our relationship by turning myself into someone different.

Looking back now I find that all rather ironic. Think about it. If you're still drinking (too much), are you really now the girl you were back then?

After a decade of abusing booze I was two stone heavier than the girl Mr SM married. I wasn't the go getting, energetic, enthusiastic bon viveur of those days. I was depressed, stuck in a rut, and a social liability.

Who was I kidding?

I am now, after fifteen months of not drinking, way more like the girl he married than I was by the end of the Drinking Days. An older, wiser and more wrinkled version perhaps, but still the same girl at heart. The girl that, for a long time, I'd lost.

4. Can we still enjoy the same things?

Yes! Although in the early days you may need to make some changes.

Initially I accepted fewer invitations. I also avoided going out for dinner a deux - it just didn't feel right without drinking. I ate early with the children, rather than sharing long, boozy dinners with the husband.

BUT those things come back. Gradually, and when you're ready. And you find that there are many new things that you enjoy doing together - without booze.

When I did start doing more parties, dinners etc, I found fake booze really helpful - for me and the husband.

He feels much more comfortable drinking a mojito if I'm drinking a virgin one, or having a beer if I'm drinking Becks Blue. It gives the illusion of us both being on the same wavelength, and that makes a big difference.

So, please don't let worrying about the people you love stop you stop drinking. You're doing the best thing for you, for them, and for your relationship.

JUST DO IT!

Love SM x

A Simple Way to Break a Bad Habit

That's the title of a TED talk by Judson Brewer. You can see why I was interested....

(Here's the link to the talk).

Judson talks about quitting smoking and stress eating, but his techniques are just as useful for quitting booze.

Here's my take on what he has to say:

It's all about mindfulness.

Brewer (he really should be a drinker with that name, don't you think?) talks about how bad habits arise.

We're programmed, at a deep subconscious level, to repeat behaviour that gives our brains a reward. It's how we learn to find food, water, reproduce etc. Trigger. Behaviour. Reward. Repeat.

The problem is that, in the modern age, some of the things that reward our brains - like alcohol - are not at all good for us.

Our conscious brains know this, but our subconscious brains are too simple, too hard wired, to get it.

(The problem is exacerbated when we're stressed, as stress causes the logical bit of our brain to short circuit, leaving us to rely on our more primal instincts. The ones that have been engrained with the habit.)

When we try to quit drinking, our conscious minds try really, really hard to not think about drinking. But the harder you try to not think about something, the more you do.

Your subconscious basically throws a big hissy fit and bombards you with instructions revolving around drinking more booze.

Brewer says the key to dealing with these cravings, these brain tantrums (my words, not his!) is curiosity.

Don't fight those thoughts. Definitely don't give into them. Don't try to make them go away. Study them, like a scientist. Be mindful about what they're saying and how your body is reacting.

Oh, here we go again. Primal brain throwing big strop. Jaw clenching, shoulders tightening up, starting to feel like a kettle reaching the boil. I wonder how long this one's going to last before it gets back in its box.

Once you start attacking cravings with curiosity they lose all their power. And you realise that they are separate from you, and that each of the small effects of that craving are manageable, and temporary.

And gradually, over time, like trying to train a really stupid dog (and, as the owner of a really stupid dog, I say that with love), the subconscious gets the message and stops seeing booze as the solution to every issue.

Try it. It works.

Love SM x

Let Yourself Off

I've had a pretty tumultuous year, what with giving up a decades long booze habit, and then dealing with breast cancer. And you know what? In many ways the two experiences were similar.

Both involve going through the wringer physically. And then, by far the harder part, dealing with the emotional fall out.

In both cases you end up doing a lot of navel gazing. Who am I? What's important in my life? How did I end up here?

Both require you to dig really deep. To find strength you didn't know you had. And to totally re-write the image you have in your head of your future, which inevitably leads to a grieving process.

And, after all of that, you end up a slightly different person - more battered, but wiser, calmer, more philosophical and, possibly, spiritual. You rediscover your appreciation of life, family and the things that matter.

There are, however, some key differences.

One of the main ones is other people.

When you're going through all this change, and angst, and physical and emotional battery as a result of cancer treatment, people fall over themselves to help you. It's almost too much.

Any time it gets on top of you, you're exhausted or just can't cope, all you have to do is raise a little finger and there's a stampede of people offering to collect your children from school or make you a casserole.

Plus, you can (as Mr SM called it) play the cancer card.

Regular readers will know that I played the cancer card to get off a parking ticket. And it was hugely helpful when I just didn't have the strength to do one of those additional jobs we mums get lumbered with constantly.

For example, I remember getting an e-mail just after my diagnosis asking if I could run one of the stalls at the school Christmas Fete (known in our family as the fete worse than death).

I sent an e-mail to the fete committee which went something like this:

Dear Ladies,

As you know, I am usually very happy to help with school events, however in this instance I'm afraid I have to say 'no'.

I have breast cancer, so am rather busy. Sure you understand.

Good luck with the fete! I'll send Mr SM and the smalls along to buy lots more plastic tat for the playroom.

Love SM

P.S. Isn't that just the Best Excuse Ever?

The problem with giving up drinking is that, as so many of us do it secretly, we don't get to play the sober card.

You can't say sorry, I'm not hosting the class party/having your children for a sleepover/taking on more responsibility and stress at work, because right now I need some space to concentrate on not drinking.

No-one's rallying around to help with the kids and cook your family meals so that you can go to bed early with a copy of Jason Vale.


So, here's my plea to you: Let yourself off.

If no-one's rallying around to help you, you need to help yourself.

Treat the early days of quitting like having an illness (which it is).

Give yourself a reasonable time to recover (100 days?), and in that time let yourself off anything which is too hard, and which'll make you want to reach for the booze.

For me it meant not cooking evening meals for a while. Instead I'd eat fish fingers with the children early and leave Mr SM to forage in the fridge. That gave me space at wine o'clock to go for a run, or have a hot bath, or read the sober blogs.

If (and I'm thinking of you, Annie), you find getting through the first five days really tough, then pretend you have 'flu. Go to bed with lots of chocolate, the laptop and some good books, and don't come out until you're strong enough.

Here's a secret: The world will not fall apart.

You are making a huge investment in your future health and happiness, and that of your family, so a few weeks of dropping balls and not living up to your usual standards is well worth it.

Don't take on any voluntary jobs. Don't feel obliged to turn up to any social events unless you really want to. Don't see anyone who stresses you out. There's plenty of time for all of that later.

Be your own support group.

(And we're all here to support you too. Although I'm afraid the service doesn't stretch to delivering casseroles).

Love SM x

All or Nothing

Regular readers will know that I hate the word 'alcoholic,' and refuse to describe myself as one.

This is not, you understand, because I am in denial. I happily admit to being an alcohol addict. And I (fairly) happily accept that I can never drink again.

BUT I will never happily say "My name's SM and I'm an alcoholic."

(I yelled at Mr SM when he used the word 'alcoholic' in relation to me the other day. Poor thing just looked confused and went back to the Financial Times).

So why the animosity to the A word? Surely it's just an innocent little adjective?

Well, actually, I think the A word does a huge amount of damage.

Because it's become loaded with such terrible baggage. It has an awful image, particularly when it comes to mothers...

If a mother is described as 'an alcoholic' you immediately picture a woman passed out in her own vomit while her grubby, neglected children forage for stale biscuits in the cupboards. Or, at least, that's what I imagine.

The implications of being an 'alcoholic' are so frightening that no-one wants to join the club.

We spend hours, days, Googling 'am I an alcoholic?' and, luckily, the definitions are so vague that we can easily convince ourselves that we are not.

So, instead of addressing the issue of our alcohol addiction (which we secretly know is there) we wrap ourselves happily in the cashmere soft cloak of denial and pour another drink.

The term 'alcoholic' is too black and white: you are one, or you're not. Whereas, actually, alcohol addiction is all about darkening shades of grey. A slippery slope. And one that it's best to get off at the top, before it gets harder.

By the time things are so awful that you'll happily accept the alcoholic badge, you've lost everything, including all self respect, making giving up terribly, terribly difficult.

But that leaves the question what terminology do we use instead?

I like to talk about 'alcohol addiction', because it makes it clear that alcohol is a drug like any other - like nicotine, heroin, cocaine. And, as a result, anyone can get addicted. Not just the unlucky few, born with some genetic disease called Alcoholism.

Then, this weekend I was reading an interview with Fearne Cotton, married to Jesse Wood, son of Ronnie the Rolling Stone.

Fearne talks about how Jesse and Ronnie got sober together: 'an incredible bonding experience.' BUT she doesn't describe her husband as an alcoholic. She says:

Like his dad, Jesse's an all-or-nothing guy, and with a growing family he felt that he'd prefer to not drink alcohol, so it's tea and fruit cake all the way, round at Ronnie's.

HURRAH for the all-or-nothing tribe!

Now that's a label I'm happy to admit to, a club I'll accept membership of.

(And I'm sure thousands more women, currently still home alone, drowning their sorrows and convincing themselves that it's 'normal' to drink a bottle of wine a day, would do the same).

My name's SM, and I'm an all-or-nothing girl. I did decades of all, and I've done 14 months of nothing. And it's great.

The 'all-or-nothing' label makes it clear that our relationship with alcohol is intrinsically tied up with who we are, and, therefore, that drinking again isn't an option, BUT it also portrays the positive side of the coin.

With that descriptor, you don't picture the slovenly mother having her children taken into care, you picture the wild, funny, party girl who's reached the age where she's had to throw in the sequinned towel.

And that, my friends, is me. Not an alcoholic, but an alcoholic addict and all-or-nothing girl.

Love SM x

Put the Glass Down!

There's a classic self help parable doing the rounds on Facebook. It goes like this:

A psychologist walked around a room while teaching stress management to an audience. As she raised a glass of water, everyone expected they'd be asked the "half empty or half full" question. Instead, with a smile on her face, she inquired: "How heavy is this glass of water?"

Answers called out ranged from 8 oz. to 20 oz.

She replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn't change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

She continued, "The stresses and worries in life are like that glass of water. Think about them for a while and nothing happens. Think about them a bit longer and they begin to hurt. And if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed – incapable of doing anything."

It’s important to remember to let go of your stresses. As early in the evening as you can, put all your burdens down. Don't carry them through the evening and into the night. Remember to put the glass down!

This struck me as somewhat ironic, as what I used to do, as early in the evening as I could, in order to put all those burdens down, was to pick up another damn glass!

And it works for a while, doesn't it? Pick up that glass of wine, and the glass of water that's been weighing down your arm all day is completely forgotten. Magic.

But, gradually, we find that we're spending so much time holding onto that glass of wine that our arm is aching more and more. And the glass of water hasn't actually gone away. We're holding that too, with the other hand.

Instead of one numb and paralysed arm we have two. Oh bugger.

So, eventually, we put down the glass of wine.

Initially things get even worse. All the feeling comes back to the arm that had been numb for so long, and it hurts.

Plus, without the glass of wine to distract us, all our attention is back on the damn glass of water in the other hand.

But, over time, the freed arm completely recovers, and we find new - and better - ways to put down the water: meditation, yoga, running, drinking hot chocolate, eating cake....

So, put down all the glasses my friends, and take up something more interesting instead :-)

Love SM x

Family Time

We've just had a lovely, sunny, three day weekend here in the UK.

In the old days, this would have been a great excuse to drink like a fish.

I'd, obviously, have overdone it on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings, and I'd have found excuses to start drinking by midday, continuing on for much of the afternoon.

By now I'd be feeling like death, and would have slunk into a pit of despair.

But these days my Bank Holiday weekends are all about family.

It struck me recently that I've spent much of the last decade trying to avoid my children. Isn't that terrible?

I would look for day time activities at weekends where they could play happily somewhere, while I would sit and watch from the side lines with some adult friends and lots of booze.

In the evenings, I would try to feed them relatively early, then there would then be a frantic rush, with lots of kicking and screaming, to get the children into bed 'on time' so that Mr SM and I could settle down for a boozy, 'adult' dinner a deux.

Over a bank holiday weekend I'd often arrange a 'family lunch.'

These generally involved inviting round another 'bon viveur' family. We'd eat lunch with the children down one end of the table and grown ups down the other, then pack them off to watch a movie/destroy the house, while we got really stuck in to the vino.

They'd leave at around 5pm (and probably stop drinking at that point), I'd keep on going until I eventually passed out on the sofa at around 10pm.

Despite the 'family lunch' description, I'd have spent barely any time at all actually talking to any of the children.

This weekend was different.

I booked tickets for us all to go to a wonderful Roald Dahl exhibition on South Bank. We then had lunch by the river, and walked along the Thames, pointing out St Paul's Cathedral and Big Ben, and ogling all the street performers.

We stopped, along with over a hundred other onlookers, to watch an amazing Australian escapologist doing a Houdini style show. He picked two young men out of the crowd to help tie him up. Then he looked around for a female assistant and....picked me!

The smalls were thrilled that Mummy got to be a star in a show and we all had a ball. (I lied when he asked me my name, so every time he addressed me as 'Sheila' the children cracked up).

Our evenings are different now too. Instead of wrestling wide awake children into bed too early, we've relaxed all the rules for non school nights. We all eat together, and we find programmes on TV that we can all enjoy.

The current favourite is Britain's Got Talent.

(Runners up are The Durrells and The Wives of Henry VIII - which counts as revision, and the children love the gore and sex references. You need to watch this sober, as you get thrown questions like "what does he mean 'Anne Boleyn had relations with her own brother'?")

So, Saturday night, I invited a friend and her daughter round, we ordered in a takeaway curry and we all watched Britain's Got Talent, piled onto cushions in the playroom, with much cheering and booing.

None of the smalls got to bed before 10pm, there was no 'adult time', just one big mess of family.

But that's the way I like it now. And, needless to say, so do the kids.

Hugs to you all,

SM x

P.S. Thank you all so much for your messages yesterday. You, and just the act of writing down my fears, helped enormously. I am 90% sure I've just strained my arm (probably as a result of an over-enthusiastic dog on a lead), and I'm not going to die (yet). I know that these cancer fears will fade in time, just like the wine witch does when you quit the booze....

What a Difference a Year Makes

A year ago, when I was exactly two months sober, I wrote this post - Tartan and Tiaras - about a huge Scottish society ball that Mr and SM and I went to.

Seven hundred dancers, from the age of eighteen to eighty, dressed in clan tartan and doing traditional Scottish reels.

Well, last night we went again.

This event has remained pretty much unchanged for over one hundred and fifty years. It's all floor length dresses, dance cards, bagpipes, diamonds and sporrans.

The only thing that changes is the other guests get younger and younger.

When I first went, more then twenty years ago, I was part of the fast, young set. Now, I find myself a grande dame (or old bag, depending on which way you look at it). How did that happen?

I always get a bit nervous leading up to the ball.

Yesterday I was in a panic about several things. Would I manage to get the children fed, bathed, and ready for bed, whilst also getting dolled up myself, before the babysitter arrived at 7pm? Would I remember all the steps? Could I make it through to 3am without keeling over?

Then it struck me. One thing that hadn't bothered me at all, was the idea of doing it all sober. In fact, just the thought of doing all of that while drunk gave me the heebie jeebies. How on earth did I manage it?

The thing about these annual events, these fixed points of stability and consistency in a fast changing world, is that they give you an unnerving perspective on time.

For years the ball gave me a sense of time slipping through my fingers. To paraphrase John Lennon, another year over, and what have we done?

I didn't feel like that last night. I looked back on the year that had passed since I last twirled my way through the Reel of the Fifty First Highland Division and felt....proud.

I'd lost the drink, found myself, and dealt with cancer. It wasn't the best of years, but at least I'd grabbed it by the sweaty bollocks, not just let it pass me by, unnoticed.

At about 2am, I looked around our group of fifty friends, and realised, yet again, that hardly anyone was drunk. And the ones that were stood out like sore thumbs.

I'd assumed for years that most people drank the way I did. I thought that if, by the end of an evening, I was a little unsteady, repetitive and slurry no-one would pay much attention, because they would be in the same state.

Now I cringe at the thought that none of it would have gone unnoticed.

So, this morning I've woken up exhausted after only four hours sleep, and aching all over.

In a way it reminds me of waking up with a hangover. You do that sort of inventory of how you feel, and use it to piece together the night before.

But, rather than my aches and pains reminding me of embarrassments and misdemeanours, they bring back memories of a magical night, celebrating another year passed with great friends, music and dance.

There are much better ways to get high than drinking.

Love SM x

(To follow my story from Day One, click here)

Memory Loss

On the very many occasions when I would, usually on a hungover Sunday morning, ask myself Am I an Alcoholic? one of the pieces of evidence of 'normality' that I would cling to like a life raft was this: I never had a blackout.

I was terrified by the idea of a blackout; the fact that you could walk, talk, dance, have sex - all seemingly consciously - yet have no recall of any of it, even when prompted.

Imagine the humiliation of having to call friends to find out what happened between, say, being at a restaurant and waking up in a stranger's bed.

Sarah Hepola, in her wonderful memoir - Blackout - describes it lyrically:

If you're like me, you know the thunderbolt of waking up to discover a blank space where pivotal scenes should be. My evenings came with trap doors....

....A curtain falling in the middle of the act, leaving minutes and sometimes hours in the dark. But anyone watching me wouldn't notice. They'd simply see a woman on her way to somewhere else, with no idea her memory just snapped in half.

The cause of blackouts is that, at a certain blood-alcohol content - around 0.3%, the hippocampus (the part of the brain responsible for making long term memories) shuts down.

Your short term memory still functions, but it can only retain detail for around two minutes, which is why people in a blackout often repeat themselves, like a talking goldfish.

The scary thing is that as those memories have never been stored, they can never be recalled, so even when your friends tell you what you did the night before, it doesn't help you to remember.

(This was central to the plot of the bestseller 'Girl on the Train' by Paula Hawkins. If you haven't read it, then do. A great page turner about an alcoholic - what's not to like?)

I was thinking about all of this in light of my post yesterday on the documentary 'Drinking to Oblivion,' where I'd concluded that there is no black and white to alcoholism, just ever darkening shades of grey.

That's when it struck me that I may not have had blackouts, but I'd definitely, and with increasing frequency, had memory 'issues'.

Because a blackout requires a certain level of blood saturation, you are most likely to have one if you drink strong alcohol, particularly quickly, and on an empty stomach.

(Women, with their lower body weights and higher fat ratios, are more at risk than men).

I only drank wine. Buckets of it, admittedly, but sipped over long periods, and I'd usually eat at some point. That's probably how I avoided the problem.

But, at a lower level of blood saturation (around 0.2%) you can experience 'fragmentary blackouts,' sometimes called 'brownouts.'

These are more like a light flickering on and off in your brain - you remember many details, but not all of them.

And that was me. Not often, but occasionally.

For example, I would go to a party and stay until 4am, and yet the period of time between, say, 1am and 4am would be a bit of a blur. I'd think back over all the people I talked to and conversations I'd had and I'd remember a fair bit, but only about one hour's worth.

Where did all the time go? I'd ask myself.

I thought maybe it was just the fact that time seemed to speed up when you were 'having fun.' But it never happens to me now.... (And I am still having fun, honestly!)

The other sign that I was heading down that slippery slope towards rock bottom was 'handbag panic.'

Several times over the last year or two of my love affair with booze, I would wake up, as per usual, at 3am, sweating alcohol and hating myself.

I would, after a bit of rummaging around in the memory banks, be able to remember how I got home, but I'd have a total panic about what I did with my handbag.

I have a beautiful Chanel clutch which Mr SM bought me on my fortieth birthday, and I would hyperventilate with fear that I'd left it at the party, or in a taxi.

At this point I would roam the house and my bedroom, using the torch on my iPhone, so as not to wake anyone, until I located the bag (which I always did). Then I'd toss and turn until past dawn.

It's only now I realise that those were 'brownouts.' My memory was flicking on and off, so I would get fragments of conversations, of a taxi journey, and so on, but some details (like where I put my bag) just disappeared through the trapdoor.

You see, it's really not black and white - just shades of grey (or brown).

And now I never lose time, or handbags, or my mind. Hurrah for that.

Love SM x

Drinking to Oblivion

That was the title of a Louis Theroux documentary on the BBC last night.

(If you missed it then do try to catch it on iPlayer).

Louis spent weeks following four alcoholics at the Kings College liver unit. All were gradually killing themselves. Some were closer to death than others.

It was a brilliant, but harrowing, programme.

It would be so easy to look at those people and think that's just not me, but, actually, I found - terrifyingly - that the similarities were, in many ways, greater than the differences.

The popular view of 'alcoholism' is that a small proportion of people have an illness which makes drinking 'normally' impossible for them. For everyone else, drinking is relatively harmless.

This documentary just re-enforced, for me, that this is just not the case. The difference between the heavy drinking 'wine connoisseur' and the low bottom drunk is actually paper thin.

There is no black and white to alcohol addiction, just shades of grey. The one certainty is that it only gets worse, and if you don't quit before it's too late, the Kings College liver unit (or similar) is where you end up.

Louis met Stuart, who was told he had around three months to live, due to cirrhosis of the liver. We saw him having ten litres of vile fluid drained from his distended belly.

Then we saw Joe, who was only thirty two (I think), and was going through a seven day medically supervised detox. Several days in and he still couldn't walk, and was shaking terribly.

Any toxin that can totally destroy people physically in that way cannot possibly be harmless in any quantities.

Another really frightening aspect of the documentary was the way it showed how, little by little, alcohol strips you of everything.

Joe had had a girlfriend, a lively social life, a good job and a lovely flat. He'd lost all of them. He was completely isolated, homeless and unemployed.

But, as their lives became emptier and emptier, there was always something there to fill the gaps - the booze.

Until, eventually, alcohol became their only friend, like the gargantuan cuckoo that pushes everything else out of the nest. And then, the idea of losing the only thing they have left becomes unthinkable.

As one lady said, she'd rather die. And she will.

I watched all of this thinking, sure, that isn't me. But I can see how it could have been.

I didn't have incurable cirrhosis, but I was two stone overweight with a malignant breast tumour.

I didn't need a seven day medical detox to quit, but quitting was still one of the hardest things I've ever done.

I didn't lose my friends, my home  and my job, but my life was gradually becoming emptier and emptier, with booze insidiously filling in all the cracks left behind.

I wasn't there, but I was on the way.

The one thing you really don't want to do is to look at the rock bottom alcoholic and think that's not me, using that as reassurance to carry on (as I'm sure many, many viewers did yesterday as they quaffed their bucket sized glasses of chardonnay).

Because, once you're addicted, it's the way you're heading, and the closer you get, the scarier it is, the more damage you're doing to yourself and your life, and the harder it is to stop.

And here's a salutary tale: lovely Joe had been alcohol free for four and a half years. He said he thought he was older and wiser now. He didn't want to go back to drinking vast amounts, he just wanted to have a glass or two of wine with dinner....

.....but we all know that you don't spend years going gradually back downhill; all it takes is a few drinks and whoompf, you're teleported back to just where you left off, or worse. And within weeks Joe was back in A&E in a poorer state than ever.

(See my post: Relapse Stories)

Interestingly, Louis Theroux, in his interviews with the media about the documentary, confessed to drinking two gin and tonics and three glasses of wine every night.  He also said that at weekends he could easily drink two bottles of wine after lunch.

Now, presuming that those were three fairly large glasses of vino, he's drinking exactly the amount that I was before I quit. And I know that that is not healthy. Mentally or physically.

So please, next time you fancy a quick drink, watch that documentary and - I promise - you won't want to any more...

(On a cheerier note, the new series of Game of Thrones starts tonight! I am beyond excited).

Love SM x

Drinking Enthusiasts

Yesterday, I received an e-mail which I was not expecting.

It was from a lady called Kelly, and it opened with the greeting: Hello Fellow Drinking Enthusiast!

This threw me somewhat.

I've been called many things since I started this blog (in fact, yesterday someone commenting on Annie's blog described me as a 'sanctimonious self promoter'. I'd pretend not to be bothered, but the fact that I find myself mentioning it would suggest otherwise), but 'Drinking Enthusiast' is a new one.

Kelly goes on to say this: I love to throw a few back now and then, and apparently you do too. I love the boozy life so much that I created a very cool and fun line of alcohol and booze-related vinyl decals for all of my fellow boozers (with a sense of humour) out there. I was hoping that you could give my booze decals a little love on your blog.

She even, most kindly, offered to send me some freebies in return.

I like to think that I do, indeed, have a sense of humour, so I chortled a lot, at the idea of me being a 'drinking enthusiast', and the fact that I have absolutely no idea what a 'vinyl decal' is, let alone how to 'give one some love' on my blog.

Loving a boozy vinyl decal sounds like something one might do at an S&M orgy (not that I'd know much about that either, obvs).

I looked up Kelly's website, and the 'decals' feature a number of 'witty' sayings, like 3-4 glasses of wine a day can reduce your risk of giving a shit (don't we know it), or I am Woman, hear me pour (all that effort, Emily Pankhurst, for this!)

Anyhow, I salute any woman who has the balls and creativity to set up their own internet business, so well done you, Kelly, and should any of you want to buy a witty, boozy, vinyl decal then do check out www.cardecalgeek.com.

I find the idea that there's this whole parallel universe out there quite unnerving. Here we are, floating around the world wide soberverse, while there are millions of others (more than us? Fewer?) blogging away in the 'drinking enthusiast' space.

I do hope that some of them eventually realise that 'giving a shit' is good thing and that there is more to being 'Woman' than pouring wine, and decide to hop on over here (yikes! Does that sound sanctimonious?).

Love to you all,

SM

Driving

One of the most awesome things about not drinking is driving.

It took me a while after I quit to really get the driving thing. I wasn't used to using my car much. But now, I just love it.

Last night, for example, Mr SM and I were meeting some old friends in a restaurant in Covent Garden.

In the bad old days this would have meant either struggling with a long tube journey in rush hour, or a very expensive taxi ride.

Coming home would have been even more tricky, as with all the theatres emptying out, a black cab would have been hard to find, Uber would be on triple time, and the tube filled with (other) drunks.

But last night all I had to do was walk outside my front door and jump in my car. Stuck some good music on, set the SatNav, and off we went.

And I've discovered that as practically no-one drives into the West End, you can always find somewhere to park. For free.

Oh joy.

Then there's parties. Remember that awful moment when you realised that you just had to put the drink down and go home?

Often it would involve tracking down the host to find a mini cab number, waiting for said cab, trying to look sober(ish) so they won't refuse to take you, having to drive round and round to find a cashpoint while making inane conversation about the vagaries of the British climate, when all you want to do is go to sleep (pass out).

NO MORE! Now you can be your own personal night bus. Your own on demand chauffeur, ready to whisk yourself home as soon as you've had enough.

Plus, you become super popular with all your (drunk) friends as you can drive them back too.

You also have the joy of playing the go-on-please-stop-me-and-breathalyse-me game whenever you pass a police car. It gives me a frisson every time.

(See my post: Fear of Cashiers and Police Cars).

Out of town parties are even more smug making. While all your friends are spending fortunes on hotels, and taxis to and from said hotels to party venue, so long as you're not more than two hours away you can just drive there....and drive back.

Ok, you might not get huge amounts of sleep, but at least you wake up in your own (free) bed, without a hangover. What's not to like?

So, all in all, I'm totally in love with my car.

Until yesterday.

I took #2 and five of his friends to Kidzania at Westfield Shopping Centre to celebrate his birthday, and the last day of the school holidays.

The boys - aged ten - were all completely hyped up, and when we arrived they jumped out of the car in a flash, and headed off.

I chased after them, yelling, in a totally un-repsonsible-adult way, and only realised once I'd dropped them off at Kidzania that I had NO IDEA where I'd parked my car, in a car park with literally thousands of spaces.

Instead of having a couple of hours to shop while the boys went crazy in Kidzania, I spent the whole time wandering round the car park trying to find my vehicle.

Which just goes to show - even sober people can be total pillocks from time to time.

Love SM x