There’s a lot of noise about Dry January at the moment. Even a last five minute slot on the Today Programme (go to 2 hours and 48 minutes) with A. A. Gill and David Yelland, yet another ex-alchoholic editor of The Sun (there must be something in that).
I have been doing dry Januaries for years now, but there’s nothing self righteous about it. It has always been entirely personal, indeed the first in 2005 was more of a personal challenge: could I do it? A month without alchohol? I did, and I’ll admit a certain self-righteous satisfaction to that.
Mostly it has been about wanting to “cleanse” myself, a month of purification incited by a Sunday Times piece when I was at university that the the self regenerating liver could return to its pre-pubesent state if relieved of alchohol for a month. That seemed a worthy cause. What would we all not do to return to our pre-pubescent sate?
But as my sister lamented, whilst abstaining for Lent, “God the evenings are long,” and it’s that the hardest part of all: that gap between work and supper. Usually filled with olives or nuts and a couple of glasses of something bright and cheering…it’s an eternity. And perhaps just for enduring that, Dry Januarists should be saluted. It’s not a crusade, but it is valiant.