Health Editor Barry Nelson and writer Lucy Richardson report back on their experiences after ‘signing the pledge’ to give up alcohol for a month

Barry’s story

DURING what felt like a very long month, I kept coming across people just like me – people who had decided, for various reasons, to join a growing army of those who had decided to give up “the demon drink” for January.

Being the new year – a time for making resolutions – somehow seemed to make it easier to go dry than at any other time.

What probably helped was the widespread publicity around the idea of giving up alcohol for January, with several charities and campaign groups encouraging people to go dry. Magazines were also full of the potential health benefits of abstaining for a month.

So having decided to stay completely sober for 31 days, what was it like, considering a month is the longest I have ever abstained from alcohol?

Well, once I had got into the habit of reaching for a soft drink rather than a beer or a glass of wine when I got home after work it seemed the normal thing to do.

Even when drinking regularly, I always try to have at least two or three days a week on the wagon, in line with medical recommendations.

As a dry January had been my wife’s suggestion.

it was relatively easy to support each other at home – and to stop each other from giving in.

To be honest, we almost cracked on several occasions, but having told everyone that we were giving up, we felt we couldn’t let ourselves down.

Friends who have also been avoiding booze have said they feel and sleep better and have lost weight. While I think I do feel a bit better, I have to say that I have not really noticed a great deal of difference, apart from my bank balance.

One of the benefits is being able to recall how last night’s murder mystery ended on the TV and how that rented movie finished. Alcohol can muddy the waters on these occasions.

Staying dry also showed that I could rely on a long glass of elderflower cordial (a favourite substitute) to tide me over that difficult early evening hour when it is so easy to reach for something alcoholic.

However, I don’t think I will be doing it again soon. One month without booze is quite enough.

Cheers!

Lucy’s story

IF there wasn’t a bottle of Chardonnay cooling in the fridge, I would normally have had heart palpitations, so my husband was not convinced I could last a month without wine. But I have, so cheers to me.

I never intended to have a dry January, but after being “on call” at work on Christmas Day, and not touching a drop until switching on Downton Abbey in the evening, I realised I’d had a fun day despite the fact that the only bubbly I’d sipped was lemonade. And there was the added bonus that I wouldn’t be receiving an unwanted gift in the form of a stonking hangover.

The physical results of clean living, such as enjoying deep sleep and dreams for the first time in years, were pretty instant. Within two days, my red, blotchy skin had cleared up and within a week I was back in a skirt that previously I could only shoehorn myself into wearing two pairs of control pants.

I’ve dieted before and had good results, but had to sacrifice food to indulge in my nightly tipple. This time, by cutting out my biggest vice, I’ve lost weight – not just because of the empty calories in alcohol, but because I have not nibbled on crisps while glugging or craved stodge to soak it all up the morning after.

What has surprised me most has been the boost to my mental health. I am happier sober and after the success of dry January, my husband and I are already planning an “arid October”. Wine was my crutch after a long shift at work or a day spent dealing with toddler tantrums, but instead of helping me de-stress, I’ve realised it only compounded the problems.

I have missed the warm, woozy feeling after a couple of glasses, but not wrestling with the devil and the angel on my shoulder arguing over whether to stop there as I’ll regret it the next day or have another because I deserve it.

I know now that I have to alter my relationship with wine and instead of treating it as the best friend I can’t do without, I need to think of Madame Chardonnay as a foreign penpal with a bit of Gallic attitude who can only come to stay once in a while.