We’ve all got that one annoying mate who decides when January comes around that a month off the sauce is somehow going to cleanse their souls and turn them into a health goddess. I get it, I really do. We all overdo it on the pigs in blankets over Christmas and come out the other side of December with slightly more padding than we intended to. We all chug 14 bottles of wine a day in the name of everything that’s festive. We all feel rotten as fuck after spending £3,529 on a G&T down the local NYE party and we most defo all feel the pain of the marathon wait for January pay day. But if you think that 30 days on the wagon – and on your high moral horse – is going to cleanse you of those xmas toxins you are fuckin barmy.
Although I completely understand why people feel the need to hit the boozing breaks in January I really see no need to deprive ourselves for a whole month. January is literally shite. It’s already so depressing, long and frankly boring even with the addition of alcohol; cutting out drinking entirely for the whole thing is just adding insult to injury. I myself have definitely cut down on my intake following a great shift over Christmas, but I am not stupid enough to fall for my own tricks two years running; I know a month without a single alcoholic beverage is pretty unrealistic, especially when it’s absolutely baltic in London at the mo.
Unfortunately for me I actually took part in dry January last year, so don’t feel too offended by this post as I’ve totally been there. First off, being sober all the time is a fucking bore. Those people – you know who you are – who say “I don’t need a drink to have fun” are both liars and frauds and you should seriously reconsider having them in your friendship group. Everyone knows that a few sherries is the recipe for a good time. Spoiler: I am not actually an alcoholic.
Anyway there I was poised to become the next Deliciously Ella or something, chewing on some kale (which tastes like arse) and sipping away on some bog standard run-of-the-mill water which I’m not going to lie probably comes straight out of the Thames through our taps. Two weeks passed and not a single ounce of fun was in the air – yes I am being melodramatic and I did have some fun but defo not the kind of fun 10 gin and tonics usually provides. I then somehow miraculously found myself in a pub – much to my horror – with a 175ml glass of grape being thrust under my nose. It’s important to note here that I am a poor impressionable youth and was completely coerced into this situation by the booze hound I live with.
The ensuing war of the wills lasted approximately 3.5 seconds (lengthy I know) and I became an official giver-upper in that moment; away the vino went to my hips (which are fucking huge). From that moment on, the driest thing about January was the Sauvignon Blanc, which was both refreshingly dry and horrendously calorific. Suffice to say I didn’t emerge from hiding at the end of January looking both clean and lean; I looked more round and hungover. But you can’t win them all, can you. Alas.
So a parting gift in the form of an inspirational quote worthy of one of those horrendous #quoteoftheday pictures you see on Instagram:
“I hate it when people say you don’t need alcohol to have fun. You don’t need running shoes to run but it fuckin helps”.