Paul Hopkins: Sláinte mhaith! Here’s to being sober-ish

I have had a love/hate relationship with alcohol all my life, ever since, as a 17-year-old, I stepped inside McDaid's of Harry St – one of Dublin's infamous literary pubs – and found myself in a sea of old men and poets, lost in old familiar overcoats, hanging on for dear life to their pints and Baby Powers, cigarette smoke wafting upwards to the high ornate ceiling of what was once a small synagogue.

For many years drinking for me was very much a sociable act, the pub holding a particular place in the Irish psyche. It was where rebellions were planned, the dead eulogised and friendships made.

Somewhere in my middle years I fell foul of the Blonde in the Black Skirt and her sidekick, Wee Jemmie. I was drinking more that I was capable of, more than I should. I was not that nasty, obnoxious drunk, more the overly-familiar type who wouldn't let others get a word in edgeways. I hurt people, those I love, with my excesses and, though I would not admit it back then, I was hurting myself.

That said, I never missed a day's work because of alcohol – ironic, given a trade that was manned by heavily imbibing journalists and printers. How we ever got the paper out each day is no small wonder.

Not long before Covid, I went for counselling but after about three sessions it dawned on me that I knew more about the psychotherapist's peccadillos that I did my own, so I packed that in. But, then, the month before the pandemic lockdown I nailed alcohol on the head and didn't touch the stuff for almost two years.

I mention all this because as many end the final week of Dry January – with supermarkets recording record sales of non-alcoholic beverages – thousands of people are using the phrase #sober-ish on social media.

Sober-ish? My psychologist friend from Magherafelt explains, as we share a melted tuna: "For some, cutting out alcohol altogether can feel like a pretty high bar. But moderation is key, and, when it comes to alcohol, the science is clear that reducing the number of units you drink offers huge benefits. The decision on how much to drink will be different for all of us; it depends on you as an individual, what your relationship with alcohol is like, and what your motivations are for cutting back."

Later, I meet a friend in my local. "I still enjoy a drink," says John, "but the ritual and mellow feeling I get from one or two is now enough. I’d never call myself tee-total but I am now down to two to three drinks a week."Others I know cite sleep, mood, mental health, concentration and, indeed, weight as reasons for staying sober-ish. Everyone is different though and, for some, abstinence may be easier than moderation.

For me, after almost two years not touching alcohol, the finality of sobriety didn’t feel good. I didn’t like the idea that I would never sip a glass of champagne – mar dhea! – ever again. I reasoned – and I reckon it was good reasoning – that if I never drank again, because in all honesty I feared I would fall back into old, all-too-familiar ways, and the hurt and the hurting would begin all over again, then alcohol was controlling me.

But if I could take a drink, the occasional drink, and then walk away from it until the next time, be it a week or a month away, then I was running the show, not alcohol. Hence mindful drinking. Being sober-ish – yes, I have fallen occasionally – the idea of never drinking again or, conversely, drinking too much, is no longer nagging at me. The voice inside my head has gone away. It's one day at a time.

The health implications of alcohol are well known, clearly, and the less you drink the better. But any reduction will have benefits in terms of energy, concentration, memory, mood, sleep, health and immunity. And in terms of breast cancer, the evidence shows that the more you drink, the higher your risk.

With my friend John the other evening I had a pint of Guinness and then two pints of some German zero larger – and then home.

I look forward to my next pint with John. What's seldom is wonderful. I look forward to that perfect pint with wishful wonder. Just like I did each week when young and entering the hallowed hall of McDaid's...