This frightful admission has been a long time coming but thanks to the Government's Health Police I have finally faced up to my problem. I am a middle-aged, professional (give me latitude here) Briton and I exceed recommended daily alcohol consumption levels.
Why Do I Do It?
It's a tough one to face up to. On weekdays I never have a drink before around 7pm in the evening, when most work things are over and my wife and I are at home. I don't drink during the day as my usually bad typing gets far worse making the spell checker give up and all I want to do is sleep. I never drink in the week at pubs and never on my own, and I rarely entertain clients with alcohol which must make me a stingy, uninteresting person to do business with come to think of it.
The evenings, though, are mine - all mine. I do like to relax and unwind with a stiff gin and tonic or a nice glass of Australian Chardonnay - call me a Philistine but it's New World over French for us as a) we are a brand person's dream and b) there are far too many chateaux to remember which one you had tasted good - I was probably too drunk anyway. Of course, in our household there is no such thing as a small gin and tonic and my measures are legendary and I rarely leave it at one when two is a rounder number and three is the king of numbers. As for wine, our everyday wine glasses are large enough to be classified as small buckets and if we open a cork bottle I fear it will go off if we don't finish it all and anyway it doesn't fit into the drinks fridge very well. The new screw tops are much better and very often we we will stop at one or two glasses and leave some left in the bottle - well we did once, I think.
With the new recommended daily alcohol consumption figures which mandate three to four units for men and two to three units per day for women, it is easy to see how I exceed these. A large glass of Australian wine which is stronger than continental brews, is three units and one of my gin and tonics can only be measured on the Richter Scale. According to these figures, I am consuming around double the recommended daily rate and that makes me an alcoholic.
Statistics, Damn Statistics
The Office for National Statistics (ONS), or 'Spoil Sports' as they are affectionately known, has done a study of around 13,000 households in Britain and it shows that over 37% regularly exceed the limits. Many middle-aged people like myself who responded to the survey said they knew the recommended safe limits and they did not see drinking a couple of large glasses of wine in the evening to unwind as exceeding the limit. I have to admit I fall into that category. I don't hide bottles or drink a bottle of vodka or meths a day or drink in the morning or lunch time for that matter but evening drinking is just as bad.
The study further reveals that middle-class drinkers were more likely to indulge in 'heavy' drinking which equated to double the recommended level - and I have a feeling that I must fall into that category. In fact around 25% of people admitted to exceeding the daily rate at least once a week. My saving grace is that if I am picking my wife up from the station late, I will rarely drink more than a glass after she arrives home before retiring for the night - other than that, I must be classified as a 'heavy' drinker.
Denial
Boy have I blogged on denial and here I am right in the middle of it myself. While I view such reports as indicative of the 'Nanny State' once again telling us what we should do and how to live our lives, apart from my younger rugby playing days, I have always regarded myself as an occasional drinker who enjoys a tipple in the evening while relaxing. Until around a year ago, I was a massive gym person and would do around 90 minutes of good exercise including rowing, cross-training, weights and swimming in my routines 5 days a week and be very fit for my age. That changed when I started working more from my 'home office' and although I walk my dogs regularly, occasionally mountain bike across rough terrain, I am now far more sedentary and weight and shape has increased. The reality is, with my consumption of alcohol, I am more likely to be a target for heart or liver disease. And certainly, since not going to the gym regularly, I have felt far less healthy and have been more susceptible to minor ailments and muscular problems.
But my biggest mistake is alcohol and I have been in denial about it. It's too easy to do.
So What Is To Be Done?
The Nanny State is clucking like a mother hen but as usual it has no real solutions. What would have been handy is to have had a small booklet to accompany this report with a handy 5 Step Plan to healthy living that introduced some Patagonian fruit-based drink that looked and smelt like wine, gave you the same feeling of mild euphoria in a tough world, cost less than a decent Viognier, had fewer calories than a cucumber, regenerated any damage to the liver, brain cells and heart walls, warded off cancer, gout and obesity and made you ultra attractive to the opposite sex. I have done the 'one month - no alcohol' thing before Christmas and abruptly stopped when someone told me that one of the surest signs of alcoholism was the trying to prove you can stop for a month and then drinking like a old dart player afterwards. During that month I actually did not feel like having a drink and I slept like an old dog every night, waking feeling quite chipper. The only moment of anxiety came as I tried to nod off to sleep each night as I had a stark realisation that some day I would die.
It's strange that alcohol suppressed that urge while probably hastening my exit from this world.
So the only thing for it is to sit down and give myself a stiff talking to. I often chide myself in the car for driving like an idiot, missing a turning or being late. You can always spot me - I'm the one who looks like he's talking on the phone in the car but am actually having a detailed argument with myself or the radio presenter. I have put the world to rights many times and there isn't a Government Minister who would actually be happy to be my passenger as I always have something to wallop them with. So it's going to have to be one of those sessions and it isn't going to be easy.
I can handle the exercise bit. There is a new gym not far away with reasonable membership fees and within cycling range. Between that and better weather on the horizon I can get my bike serviced and take the dogs out for an hour each day while cycling over fantastic, rugged terrain excellent for aerobic stuff and leg muscles. Of course, the dogs don't like it so much but they are Border Collies and it's time they behaved like the ones on TV. So with that side sorted out, surely I can eat and drink as much as I like?
Oh No You Can't
The trouble with this damn report is that even if you are as fit as Steve Redgrave you need to drink less than three units a day. I have given up on my aspirations to carry the Olympic Torch ever since I saw that chap race around the Beijing Stadium suspended on a wire - I can neither match that nor stand the heights. But do I have to stop drinking so much? After all, one glass really doesn't do much, it's the second that counts and by that time the bottle may as well be finished. I don't smoke, for heaven's sake, and I have never done anything worse than Nurofen Plus in my life even when I had my eyes lasered (yes - I was the idiot who thought Ibuprofen and codeine was strong enough to suppress the pain after having your eyes burnt to a cinder. It wasn't until the second day of agony, locked in a dark room muttering to myself miserably that I called the surgeon and he politely but firmly told me I was an idiot and urged that I took the right pills. The pain evaporated almost immediately). Surely I am not a case cruising for the 'Big Sleep' early doors?
The fact is I am late forties and above my punching weight, taking less exercise than a sloth and have a sedentary job - and yes, I drink far too much and we haven't even got on to eating. Considering everything in that context it's a bit of wonder I haven't dropped dead beforehand.
Right - That's It Then
OK - I am going to have to argue with myself about it and pour that lovely yellow and red elixir down the sink and get on my bike to the gym.
But it's time to start work, it's raining outside and I feel a slight chill coming on. My Mum always told me, hot whisky was the best cure and I think I shall have one before bed tonight. Purely medicinal of course and, like mayonnaise on tuna, Branston on cheese or port with Stilton, that doesn't count.
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