Last week the Government slashed the safe alcohol limit by a third, to 14 units a week – four glasses of wine, or a bit more than five pints.
It might look like a blow struck against “Booze Britain” – but in reality the general population of the UK (especially twenty-somethings) is drinking less than ever before anyway.
Concepts like “dry January” have made sobriety a competitive endeavour, with social media bragging rights going to righteous millennials who find abstinence is the surefire way to have a good time.
London’s Morning Gloryville (an early morning sober rave concept attended mainly by relentlessly perky ex-Ibizans in glitter-splattered Lulu Lemon) has turned in to a global phenomenon, popularising intimacy with strangers fuelled by little more than cold-pressed kale.
Meanwhile in NYC, sober speed dating events and “juice crawls” bill themselves as a night on the town, sans hangover, and are all the rage for a generation who no longer need Dutch courage to talk to attractive strangers.
When I was recently invited to a meet a date at 11am I presumed brunch or (worst case scenario) a romantic stroll around the park was on the cards.
But, as it turned out, we had a midday meet-and-greet with his AA group. What better environment to get to know someone in, he reasoned, than at their most vulnerable and raw.
Rather than dropping his guard after a bottle of wine, he managed to do so swigging cold tea in a community hall. His candour impressed me, and following our AA date we never drank together.
Kalefornia getting some @juicecrawl love! https://t.co/riv0emjqRA
— Rawpothecary (@rawpothecary) April 26, 2016
As someone who had often begun relationships on wobbly footing, it was a revelation.
Conversations were thoughtful and considerate, intimate moments were amplified. I could accurately gauge his ability to say witty things without wine lubricating my sense of humour.
I knew where I stood, trusted his judgement and my own. Before I knew it I was barely drinking anymore and it felt incredibly empowering.
At first.
Because as my drinking decreased to zilch, the amount of silly, funny things I did, decreased also.
DRINKING IS FUN
— Yoshi (@Yoshehh) August 27, 2016
My self-consciousness increased, negative thoughts were harder to shake off, and I felt pressure to be productive ALL the time. Just as you probably shouldn’t base your social life on getting pissed, it’s unequally unrewarding to base it on being sober.
The reality is that a lot of people DO need alcohol to have fun. Yoga just doesn’t cut it at 10pm on a Friday night after a horrendous week when all you want to do is kick back with as-many-glasses-of-whatever-as-you-bloody-well-like.
I can do sobriety, I’ve realised, but only in moderation. I’m not proud of it, perhaps this all means I’m a functioning addict or – worse – a throwback, to an age when it was OK to snarl “it’s MEDICINAL” at anyone who dared tell me I was teetering dangerously close to my fifteenth unit.
I’d like the government to bear in mind before they slash our arbitrary limits again, or enforce them more harshl, that drinking a bit more than I “should” sometimes DOES make me feel better.
My booze intake should be between me and my bartender, so I’ll be ignoring their restrictions and listening -instead- to my body and wallet to let me know when I’ve had enough.
We’ve all got to die of something, after all, and I’d rather not die of a soul-crushing mix of stress and boredom.
