I’ve always been a boozehag. I love my wine and partying with friends til the wee hours, albeit I’m the one who’s usually the messiest. But it’s okay, it’s what I do. I ring around the next day, check I haven’t made too big a dick of myself and shake it off, ready for next time. All the while hating myself for not being able to control my drinking.
Then I had kids and suddenly had the perfect excuse for not going out and getting drunk all the time. Yet on the very rare occasions I’ve had nights away from home, I’ve got plastered.
Meanwhile, on the home front I’ve steadily had a glass a night. As I said earlier, proud as punch that I’m in control and stopping after that one.
So what am I scared of? Why do I have to stop? My boozy brain asks.
My dear boozy brain who I know so weIl… If I don’t stop now, I’m going to tumble down the slippery slope that leads to four glasses of wine a night. It will happen in the blink of an eye and right now I have to change my path.
And that, said Mum, is that.