Surely it’s possible to go out and be all sparkly and funny without the requisite drink in hand. Liz Frost gives it a try…
Ever had one of those Saturday mornings? You know the ones I mean. You wake up after a Friday night out and realise your head is full of tap dancing mice and someone has replaced your tongue with a large sponge. And worst of all? You can’t for the life of you remember how you got that way.
That was me this Saturday. I woke up with a Kit-Kat wrapper stuck to my face. As my room swam into vision I noticed there were several unidentifiable tea lights lurking beside my bed and somebody had drawn a picture of a cat in biro on my forearm. I knew I’d had a good time, but couldn’t quite remember how.
Realising my breath was probably flammable, I headed to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth. As I looked in the mirror at my messed up hair and blood-shot eyes, I wondered if it was all worth it. I mean surely I could have had just as much fun without all the damage to my liver?
That morning over breakfast at the greasy spoon down the road, my friends looked at me – mid-munch – as if I was mad when I said, “Do you think we drink too much?” Everyone agreed that we were all a bunch of alkies. But nobody seemed to care but me.
I tucked into another sausage and decided I’d have to take things into my own hands. Surely I could still be the life and soul of the party with, say, a glass of orange juice or coke. Even the thought of it made me feel instantly healthier. I’d be the one looking on at my drunken friends and helping them into taxis before heading off home shaking my head fondly. In the morning, whilst they complained of headaches over their bacon and eggs, I’d be bright eyed and bushy tailed, handing out anecdotes from the previous night like Smarties. I actually started to look forward to an alcohol-free life.
My first alcohol-free jaunt was Thursday night. It was Rachel’s birthday. At the pub, we stood there – they with their Martini’s and me with my J20 – watching the world go by.
Two drinks in and everything was going swimmingly. I was having a great time and, despite several loo trips, nobody had noticed the lack of alcohol in my glass – I made a mental note to switch to smaller helpings of J20 next time.
I had been chatting to a suited man from North London and congratulating myself inwardly on how articulate I was being when suddenly something felt odd. Laura was giggling uncontrollably at Rachel, who was balancing a cocktail stirrer on her top lip. “How idiotic,” I thought and turned back to my conversation with ‘Mark’ (I think it was about Premium bonds thinking back). Then it dawned on me. I looked around me at the jam-packed bar full of people at various stages of merriment. There were couples smooching, girls giggling and boys flirting, come to think of it, even City Mark had started to slur a little.
With that, I excused myself from my pinstriped friend, swiftly ordered a glass of wine and knocked it back. If you can’t beat them join them. Who cares about my liver, who wants to be the only non-idiot anywhere?
Liz Frost is a freelance writer specialising in features for women's magazines. She writes for Company, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Zest, B, Bliss, She, Female First and NW. Email her at liz_frost@yahoo.co.uk, even if it's just to say hello!
