And on day 204 he crumbled. Just 161 and a half days short of the year. A mere 23 weeks to go. Having come so far, he decides to go back. But it's not that unsurprising a revelation. In fact it's more of a surprise, I am sure, that I have lasted this long. In the heat of the afternoon I had looked with a covetousness forbidden by God at the beer of my neighbour on the lunch terrace, but my girlfriend ordered a pineapple juice and it seemed crazy to drink alcohol for the first time if she was on soft drinks, so I overcame my desire and instead had a carrot juice.
But later at dinner, in the warmth of the evening, with the waves crashing on the shore nearby it seemed crazy not to be drinking a cocktail. We were on holiday and so surely we should be having the maximum amount of fun. And I was curious. Curious to see how booze would seem to me after so long an absence and curious to see how it would affect me. Curious as well to find out if I still liked it. And if I got through this holiday without trying it, I could be pretty sure that it would be July 12th at the earliest before I satiated these curiosities. It felt like the right moment, even if in the pit of my stomach it felt like the wrong thing to do.
But just as I had been tentative about going for a dip in the cold, turquoise lagoon this morning, I knew the best thing to do was to take the plunge. Even though I was aware by doing so, I was effectively telling my girlfriend that this moment was more important to me than her 30th birthday. We ordered some champagne cocktails. They arrived. I took a sip and swilled the drink around my mouth. If I spat it all out now I could probably still claim to have kept my resolve, although the halo would have been slightly tainted. "I took a drink, but I did not inhale". But I did inhale. Whether real or imagined the alcohol warmed the inside of my mouth and my head felt immediately light. It's been a while, but surely I wasn't that cheap a date. I liked it though. It made me feel soothed and relaxed. It was the first drink of my 44th year. Though I had to wonder if I should have eased myself into it all more gently rather than starting with a mixture of champagne and schnapps!
The imagined light-headedness immediately disappeared, though there was the faint echo of a headache (had this been the quickest hangover to follow the fastest anyone had ever got pissed). I drank slowly and none of the other mouthfuls seemed to have much effect. It was pleasant enough, but all pleasure was tinged with a slight disappointment that my experiment was over, that I hadn't had the resolve to see it through for longer.
Still it was cool to be drinking with my beautiful girlfriend and it felt right that after the meal we should head to the bar for another one. I had no hunger for it though. This wasn't a man dying of thirst, lost in the desert suddenly gulping down the contents of an oasis, though if the thirsty man had had to pay as much for the oasis water as we were paying for these cocktails then he may have just had a sip or two himself. It was enjoyable enough, but I didn't feel like catching up on all that I had missed out on (not yet anyway). I couldn't quite shake the sense of loss. My girlfriend (who hasn't stopped drinking for one second in the last six months) was pretty drunk after her two cocktails, but I didn't feel all that much different. I had warned my girlfriend that I would not be responsible for any of my actions the minute that alcohol had passed my lips, but no real passions either criminal or lustful were created within my breast. I was a little short with a man who had tried to persuade us to buy souvenirs as we looked in the shop window, but I might have been anyway. My personality didn't change back. Perhaps I did vomit up part of my essence and soul on the 12th July in Ipswich. Maybe I am done with alcohol after all, but I had to try it again to find out.
Still it may be good to have the option to drink now and I think it's likely that I might stop again once I am back home (last time I gave up I thought about only drinking when abroad). Perhaps after a fortnight I will have got my hollow drinking legs back and you'll know that I am home when you hear the rumpus coming from Heathrow or the rumours of a terrorist attack.
It wasn't magical and it wasn't terrible. It was a bit of an anti-climax.
No days without drink. Let's start again and see if I can beat this new record!
