I found Alan Carr's book at a second hand bookshop at a discount. Seemed like an interesting premise on the front cover: No More Hangovers. My curiosity was peaked. Could this common problem that has baffled countless generations over millennia finally be solved? Well no, actually.
Reading the first pages, my eyes were drawn to the glaring warning centre page:
'It is important to read this from front to back without skipping ahead'.
Damn! I had to part with 4 euro and let the secret reveal itself slowly to me in order. On each page is a short fact or paragraph of information, designed to strengthen your resolve until the final pages where you commit to giving up alcohol forever.
Wait a minute? But I just want to get rid of my hangovers. I don't want to give up alcohol completely.
Alan Carr, better recognized from his 'Stop Smoking' fame, suggests that the only way to remove hangovers is to abstain COMPLETELY. 100%. No indecision with this guy.
Hmmm. Felt a bit duped by the title. Putting my skepticism to one side, I found the pocketbook made compelling reading, and I devoured it in one sitting. Some interesting points made:
- Alcohol is a diuretic. It makes you more thirsty. This is the reason we crave/thirst for more beer even after 8 pints. We couldn't drink 8 pints of water even if we tried.
- The appealing taste of some flavoured drinks, is not due to the alcohol. Pure alcohol is unpalatable. It is the fruit juice that in the cocktail or mojito, that engages the senses. We falsely associate this pleasurable kick to the alcohol.
- Drinking is fun. Carr discusses how it is not the drink that creates your happy buzz, but instead the social group and company you find yourself in. In a different context, by drinking alone in a room it would become clear that the alcohol by itself doesn't create a buzz.
An interesting and provocative read that helps challenge certain well held beliefs about our relationship with alcohol.
Rating: 4/5
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Suffering Social Life!
Seems like a lot of drinkers don't appreciate a sober person's company.
I can relate to that; especially when my younger sister suddenly became old enough to accompany me to clubs. I hated having someone there who wouldn't be drinking, because I knew it would kill my buzz. I'd have to be careful in what I said and did because most likely, I'd hear about it the next day. Of course, this was rarely the case, but it still didn't help alleviate my concerns.
The criticism was probably unwarranted, but I was being selfish at the time, and anyone not 'in synch' with my getting drunk, disrupted the equilibrium. Perhaps this is why I'm still being pressured by friends. With me being out of my comfort zone on current nights out, they are also by definition, outside their comfort zone. The only way to correct course, is influence that stray element (me) back into the fold!
Or maybe it's because I've become boring; a sober mind unable to break free of its rational chain of thought. Gone are the days of making such a silly show of myself, that I made others look good! It's very difficult to be sober, and not be serious or critical. The last thing I want to be is Mr Responsible on a night out, but with practice it will become easier to integrate into groups of varying sobriety.
Part of me prefers to be in the company of people who drink. It will be entertaining, and full of incident. Things...happen! It's never dull. Especially not with my circle of friends. But part of me sees them becoming so wasted that they become liabilities, utterly boring and without any coherence.
Would I rather be sober in a group of like minded sober people? Or with drunken people?
I lean toward the more sober group, but a fine balance would be ideal. Maybe that says something about my own pursuit to eliminate alcohol in my life. Perhaps a fine line would be more suitable and realistic longer term. For now though, I still hope to build some courage so that alcohol isn't a prerequisite for a good night out.
I just need to integrate myself back into society!
I can relate to that; especially when my younger sister suddenly became old enough to accompany me to clubs. I hated having someone there who wouldn't be drinking, because I knew it would kill my buzz. I'd have to be careful in what I said and did because most likely, I'd hear about it the next day. Of course, this was rarely the case, but it still didn't help alleviate my concerns.
The criticism was probably unwarranted, but I was being selfish at the time, and anyone not 'in synch' with my getting drunk, disrupted the equilibrium. Perhaps this is why I'm still being pressured by friends. With me being out of my comfort zone on current nights out, they are also by definition, outside their comfort zone. The only way to correct course, is influence that stray element (me) back into the fold!
Or maybe it's because I've become boring; a sober mind unable to break free of its rational chain of thought. Gone are the days of making such a silly show of myself, that I made others look good! It's very difficult to be sober, and not be serious or critical. The last thing I want to be is Mr Responsible on a night out, but with practice it will become easier to integrate into groups of varying sobriety.
Part of me prefers to be in the company of people who drink. It will be entertaining, and full of incident. Things...happen! It's never dull. Especially not with my circle of friends. But part of me sees them becoming so wasted that they become liabilities, utterly boring and without any coherence.
Would I rather be sober in a group of like minded sober people? Or with drunken people?
I lean toward the more sober group, but a fine balance would be ideal. Maybe that says something about my own pursuit to eliminate alcohol in my life. Perhaps a fine line would be more suitable and realistic longer term. For now though, I still hope to build some courage so that alcohol isn't a prerequisite for a good night out.
I just need to integrate myself back into society!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Memoirs: Millennium
Belfast: Millennium Eve.
The night had been planned for months. Only 17, we were almost officially legal age to start drinking in any bar in Ireland. No more fake I.D.s or having to rely on the leniency of bouncers to let us into bars. Soon to be independent men, who could go anywhere, and do what we wanted without fear of rebuke from our parents.
Not quite legal age, but already drinking like seasoned veterans, we joined Morgan's parents on my first ever night out in Belfast. We had a couple of alcopops at his house to get warmed up, before downing shots of Goldschlager.
"You got more flakes than me!" I protested, as he finished pouring the shots.
"OK, here." he used a spoon to scoop out an even quantity of flakes, with delicate precision.
"Cheers. You think that's real gold flakes in there?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, of course it is. They help to soak up the alcohol, mate. Drink up."
They went down the hatch with some effort, chased by Blue WKD to ease the pain.
Morgan's mum then knocked on the door, and asked if we were ready. It was around 8pm and we wanted to get there in good time, in the thick of the street party as the countdown to a new millennium approached.
Grabbing a few cans of beer from the fridge, we piled into the back seat of the car.
When we arrived in Belfast there were throngs of people already on the streets drinking. Fearing our drunken wanderings, Morgan's parents kept us on a short leash. As darkness fell, music began blaring from the giant speakers positioned around the City Centre square. Getting into party mode, we begun drinking furiously while checking our watch every few minutes.
"Quick Morgan. We are running out of time. It's nearly midnight. Smash your drink!"
Nearing midnight, I lifted Morgan onto my shoulders, which did nothing for my already unstable drunken self.
"3. 2. 1. Happy New Year!" Fireworks everywhere, strangers hugging in the streets, and party poppers going off all around. It was a carnival atmosphere, and one that we revelled in at that moment. I dropped my drinking partner down, and took the glass presented to me by his mother.
"Champagne boys! Happy New Year!"
We clinked glasses and I took my first ever taste of champagne. It was disgusting, and nearly came up straight away.
"Nice isn't it!" she asked.
"Yeah, lovely. Thanks!" I lied, swallowing it back hard. When she turned around, I pinched my nose, and downed it in one great gulp. I looked to my friend and saw him pour his onto the pavement.
"What are you doing that for?" I asked him in horror.
"It's horrible."
"Yeah," I said, "but it's free booze!"
I snatched his plastic cup and sank back the remainder.
Two hours later, I'm in the back seat of their car being driven home. I'm being sloshed about in the car by the turns in traffic. Stomach doing somersaults, and coming out in a cold sweat.
"You OK mate?" Morgan asks.
I tilt my head upward making it easier for any vomit projectile to hit my closed mouth and sink back down where it came from. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.
"I'm not too good. I'll be OK though." I groaned, swabbing the perspiration from my brow. I didn't want to raise alarm, because we were on the motorway, making ground fast and within touching distance of rescue. I felt the pressure on my tonsils, and knowing if I bent over, it would all come flying out. Christ, please no. I'll do anything. Just make me survive this. Come on you can do this. Keep swallowing.
"Mum, I don't think he's too well. If you get a chance to pull over, take it." Morgan said to his mother in the driving seat.
"Can't you wait 10 minutes? We're nearly home."
Wow, that was close. I ingested the mouthful of putrid sick in my mouth. It had nearly seeped out. I felt my teeth covered in it, but at least no one else would notice my discomfort. I needed to save face.
The pressure slowly began to build from deeper, until finally my resolve was broken in one long gushing flow of sick. I unzipped my coat and it poured from my mouth as I directed it onto my lap. In my last heroic effort I had tried to save the car from harm, taking the hit selflessly. It was warm and stank of sweet fruit. I heaved several times uncontrollably, scooping it inside my coat making my belly warm. I could feel its weight shift with the flight of the car, and the instant relief I felt was soon replaced by excruciating embarrassment.
My memory of the event had all but been forgotten until the next morning, when Morgan proceeded to tell me that his Uncle had been up since 9am cleaning the leather seats furiously. The problem had been that the sick had gushed everywhere, and the seatbelt buckles were particularly tricky. A toothbrush was needed for that more complex job.
A beautiful entrance into the new Millennium, and it was a long time before I was able to live that down.
The night had been planned for months. Only 17, we were almost officially legal age to start drinking in any bar in Ireland. No more fake I.D.s or having to rely on the leniency of bouncers to let us into bars. Soon to be independent men, who could go anywhere, and do what we wanted without fear of rebuke from our parents.
Not quite legal age, but already drinking like seasoned veterans, we joined Morgan's parents on my first ever night out in Belfast. We had a couple of alcopops at his house to get warmed up, before downing shots of Goldschlager.
"You got more flakes than me!" I protested, as he finished pouring the shots.
"OK, here." he used a spoon to scoop out an even quantity of flakes, with delicate precision.
"Cheers. You think that's real gold flakes in there?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, of course it is. They help to soak up the alcohol, mate. Drink up."
They went down the hatch with some effort, chased by Blue WKD to ease the pain.
Morgan's mum then knocked on the door, and asked if we were ready. It was around 8pm and we wanted to get there in good time, in the thick of the street party as the countdown to a new millennium approached.
Grabbing a few cans of beer from the fridge, we piled into the back seat of the car.
When we arrived in Belfast there were throngs of people already on the streets drinking. Fearing our drunken wanderings, Morgan's parents kept us on a short leash. As darkness fell, music began blaring from the giant speakers positioned around the City Centre square. Getting into party mode, we begun drinking furiously while checking our watch every few minutes.
"Quick Morgan. We are running out of time. It's nearly midnight. Smash your drink!"
Nearing midnight, I lifted Morgan onto my shoulders, which did nothing for my already unstable drunken self.
"3. 2. 1. Happy New Year!" Fireworks everywhere, strangers hugging in the streets, and party poppers going off all around. It was a carnival atmosphere, and one that we revelled in at that moment. I dropped my drinking partner down, and took the glass presented to me by his mother.
"Champagne boys! Happy New Year!"
We clinked glasses and I took my first ever taste of champagne. It was disgusting, and nearly came up straight away.
"Nice isn't it!" she asked.
"Yeah, lovely. Thanks!" I lied, swallowing it back hard. When she turned around, I pinched my nose, and downed it in one great gulp. I looked to my friend and saw him pour his onto the pavement.
"What are you doing that for?" I asked him in horror.
"It's horrible."
"Yeah," I said, "but it's free booze!"
I snatched his plastic cup and sank back the remainder.
Two hours later, I'm in the back seat of their car being driven home. I'm being sloshed about in the car by the turns in traffic. Stomach doing somersaults, and coming out in a cold sweat.
"You OK mate?" Morgan asks.
I tilt my head upward making it easier for any vomit projectile to hit my closed mouth and sink back down where it came from. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.
"I'm not too good. I'll be OK though." I groaned, swabbing the perspiration from my brow. I didn't want to raise alarm, because we were on the motorway, making ground fast and within touching distance of rescue. I felt the pressure on my tonsils, and knowing if I bent over, it would all come flying out. Christ, please no. I'll do anything. Just make me survive this. Come on you can do this. Keep swallowing.
"Mum, I don't think he's too well. If you get a chance to pull over, take it." Morgan said to his mother in the driving seat.
"Can't you wait 10 minutes? We're nearly home."
Wow, that was close. I ingested the mouthful of putrid sick in my mouth. It had nearly seeped out. I felt my teeth covered in it, but at least no one else would notice my discomfort. I needed to save face.
The pressure slowly began to build from deeper, until finally my resolve was broken in one long gushing flow of sick. I unzipped my coat and it poured from my mouth as I directed it onto my lap. In my last heroic effort I had tried to save the car from harm, taking the hit selflessly. It was warm and stank of sweet fruit. I heaved several times uncontrollably, scooping it inside my coat making my belly warm. I could feel its weight shift with the flight of the car, and the instant relief I felt was soon replaced by excruciating embarrassment.
My memory of the event had all but been forgotten until the next morning, when Morgan proceeded to tell me that his Uncle had been up since 9am cleaning the leather seats furiously. The problem had been that the sick had gushed everywhere, and the seatbelt buckles were particularly tricky. A toothbrush was needed for that more complex job.
A beautiful entrance into the new Millennium, and it was a long time before I was able to live that down.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
One Month Sober!
One month complete. Mission accomplished!
It hasn't been easy. Especially at weekends. Four of those have elapsed and the one just gone, was the most difficult.
On Thursday evening I conceded defeat, reasoning that tomorrow (Friday) I should enjoy myself with friends. 4 weeks was progress enough. For whatever reason when I went to bed that evening, I slept badly. I woke up at 5am and it felt like I had a hangover. Then I had the sudden insight that I didn't want to experience that feeling anymore, undoing all the progress I had made up to that point. I resolved to keep going and promptly rolled over and fell asleep again.
That being said, I still went out Friday night with friends. Again, very uncomfortable with my sobriety among a heaving mob of dancers in the club. Time drags so much when sober, and in my heightened sensitivity I felt awkward silences, pushy customers, loud noise more than anyone else. It will definitely take some time to adjust.
How long?
I set out last month with several goals: to clean my insides out, save a little money, embrace discomfort and build some courage. I haven't achieved all I've wanted in that timeframe. I didn't think beyond the initial month, and now I find myself in uncharted territory. Friends are inviting me back into the frame and the temptation is stronger than ever.
At the moment my balancing scale still weighs in favour of staying off alcohol. But the gap is closing, and I will continue to take it week by week. One of the major struggles I'm having is getting outside my own head. Without alcohol, people still get the same 'me' as they get during the day. I can't really change mode and be a social animal all of a sudden, or effortlessly approach the opposite sex. Everything is now preplanned and I'm becoming more of an observer than a participator.
There's a form of escapism in drinking, and the allure of shirking life's problems and taking solace in alcohol is definintely appealing, but ultimately a short-term fix. I need to remain focussed on the long-term, facing challenges and building character so that booze doesn't influence me and I begin to take full responsibility for my experiences.
It's a struggle, but I'm going to keep pushing ahead.
It hasn't been easy. Especially at weekends. Four of those have elapsed and the one just gone, was the most difficult.
On Thursday evening I conceded defeat, reasoning that tomorrow (Friday) I should enjoy myself with friends. 4 weeks was progress enough. For whatever reason when I went to bed that evening, I slept badly. I woke up at 5am and it felt like I had a hangover. Then I had the sudden insight that I didn't want to experience that feeling anymore, undoing all the progress I had made up to that point. I resolved to keep going and promptly rolled over and fell asleep again.
That being said, I still went out Friday night with friends. Again, very uncomfortable with my sobriety among a heaving mob of dancers in the club. Time drags so much when sober, and in my heightened sensitivity I felt awkward silences, pushy customers, loud noise more than anyone else. It will definitely take some time to adjust.
How long?
I set out last month with several goals: to clean my insides out, save a little money, embrace discomfort and build some courage. I haven't achieved all I've wanted in that timeframe. I didn't think beyond the initial month, and now I find myself in uncharted territory. Friends are inviting me back into the frame and the temptation is stronger than ever.
At the moment my balancing scale still weighs in favour of staying off alcohol. But the gap is closing, and I will continue to take it week by week. One of the major struggles I'm having is getting outside my own head. Without alcohol, people still get the same 'me' as they get during the day. I can't really change mode and be a social animal all of a sudden, or effortlessly approach the opposite sex. Everything is now preplanned and I'm becoming more of an observer than a participator.
There's a form of escapism in drinking, and the allure of shirking life's problems and taking solace in alcohol is definintely appealing, but ultimately a short-term fix. I need to remain focussed on the long-term, facing challenges and building character so that booze doesn't influence me and I begin to take full responsibility for my experiences.
It's a struggle, but I'm going to keep pushing ahead.
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