Now I do like a drink...

I may be an alcoholic. I don’t sit in the park or queue at the supermarket for my daily fix of strong cider or cheap wine, but I may be an alcoholic.

When drug addicts are asked why they take drugs and get hooked to the horror of non drug takers, their answer is that they like the effects. The cream cake syndrome. We all accept that cream cakes are not the healthiest of foods, but they are available and tempting in the main, and many people who know better will eat them.

I am like that with drink. I like the effect it has on me. I do not drink to the point of unconsciousness and don’t lose social control, but I am a slave to the cosy, relaxed feeling that alcohol provides. I find it hard to resist. I do acknowledge that too much or too often alcohol can create a problem and that my long term health could well be suffering, but the short term fix, for that is what it is, is not to be denied.

Occasionally, I do have a morning after and then I am full of resolve to have a day off, but by about ten in the evening, the morning resolution has faded and I want a drink. I don’t stop with one. There has to be another and occasionally a third. I do not stint on the measure either. I know this by the frequency I need to restock the bottle. And that leads to another confirmation of the opening statement. I am sometimes a sly buyer, pretending a reason to buy to cover the real reason that I just need to drink.

I once gave up drinking alcohol for the period of Lent. This was after very public declaration in a school assembly and several subsequent reminders to friends and colleagues. Stating your desire to avoid alcohol in a pub with friends was an excellent reinforcer. I cam unstuck though. It was quite by accident and through a little ignorance. Most on alcoholic drinks due tend to be sweet or fruity or both. What I craved was a bitter flavour, the flavour I enjoyed with beer. I did not know at this point that Angostura’s bitters contained alcohol, though by the time two splashes into diluted to a half pint of soda, it would almost be a homeopathic concentration. But that was the drink I discovered that met my taste and I could happily sip.

I saw the irony. It was revealed by Steve the Landlord, who, I rather think, enjoyed my modest humiliation. It was a bitter sweet moment. In fact, although shattered my Lenten promise, it did create a pleasant drink.

But to my current crisis. I can happily give up the wine and the beer, but it is just that whisky moment at the day’s end that I cannot conquer. It worries me and I need to address it. Which is why I have written this - as a form of self therapy. I hope I can make it work. Perhaps I should rediscover my Angostura’s moments.

After all, I do not want to abstain totally.