I’m the guy that quit drinking in 2015 and sailed through years of sobriety without so much as a wobble…

I’m the guy that endlessly preached the benefits of a no-booze lifestyle to whoever would listen. Better skin, more money, sharper mind, no more bad decisions, better sex, effortless weight loss…

I’m the guy that was so absolutely sure I’d found a good, positive, healthy way of quitting booze that I set up SOBERPUNKS GANG, a support group with thousands of thriving members, all working towards being better versions of themselves…

I’m the guy that went to parliament and rallied for clearer alcohol-free drink labelling because “we teetotallers deserve options, and clearer information about what those options are”…

I’m the guy that people come up to at gigs and say “dude, I wish I could get off the fuckin’ pop too!”…

So why in the almighty FUCK did I wake up on Jan 1st 2022, after 6 years of unwavering sobriety, in a trashed Brighton hotel room with a hole burned in the coffee table, a mouth that tasted like arseholes, with an absolute TWAT of a hangover? And then, why did I decide to continue this madness for another 12 months??

SoberPunks blog is back, baby! And this time it’s a little bit more serious than last time (epic tagline).

My last blog was on New Years Eve 2019, and it was called Sobriety? Completed It Mate. That’ll serve me right for getting all uppity and righteous, and being a smug git, won’t it?

And so much has changed since then! Bought a house, changed jobs, dropped some dead weight, sold a house, met an absolute goddess and became a step-dad to an eight year old legend (Wanna watch Star Wars Jon? Fuck yes I do!), played some blinding gigs with my shit band Petrol Bastard, bought a house with a balcony and three bogs (oo get me), grew my hair all girly, had a poo in the cubicle next to Anne Diamond (true), got a cat, then got some more cats, made some soup… usual bloke-in-his-forties stuff, really. Everything’s been good. REALLY good, in fact.

So why did I risk it all by going back to the booze? What the chuff went wrong, yer mad Yorkshire BASTARD (said in voice of Sean Bean)?

The New Year’s Eve in Brighton Story
23:00: “I’ve had a lovely evening, Amy. Want to stop for a cocktail at that lovely looking place on the seafront with the cosy fire pits? I’ll just have a coffee”
23:20: “Actually. You know what? I’ll try one single glass of their best red wine. Just for old time’s sake”
23:55: “(slurred) Bring me your whisky menu, good man!”
00:00 “Happy New Year!”
00:20: “Fucking hell. The bill’s £120! ‘Mon, let’s head back to the hotel”
00:30: “What a wonderful corner shop you have. These 3 large bottles of booze please. And those poppers, over there (?)”
11:15: “What the FUCK happened last night? Why’s the table got a hole burned in it? What the hell is that stain on the sofa? This is MAD!”

The Fashionable Homewares Story
“Ooo look. That decanter would look great in our front room. Shall we get it? I suppose we should get some expensive whisky to put in it too, just so that it looks right”
[the whisky lasted 2 days]

The Mike Bassett England Manager Story
“What the fuck Jon? It’s half 7 in the morning! Why are you watching Mike Bassett England Manager? Have you been drinking?? This is bad!”

On New Year’s Eve 2022, the one just gone, and after a year of regular covert drinking, I was invited to go on national telly to talk about my “amazing sobriety journey”. Seven years without a drink is pretty spectacular! That’s what people told me. Dry January was looming, and people needed to hear from people like me. People who’ve beaten the addiction, and can prove that life gets better when you’re dry. And so I did the show, and in the taxi back from London I WhatsApped my lovely fiancée. I’M ABSOLUTELY BUZZING AFTER THAT. LET’S GET SOME CHAMPAGNE. And she said no, coz she knows what I’m like, so I got onto Deliveroo and ordered some in.

I drank the champagne, plus some white wine, and rolled around on our posh new sofa (that’s already stained with ice lollies and sticky little fingerprints – this fatherhood thing is mad) and laughed at the absurdity of ME, a year-long top-secret pisshead, spewing the benefits of sobriety on national telly not two hours earlier. When pressed by the presenter I had conceded “the occasional glass of fizz to help celebrate a friend’s wedding”. I’d fed her an Andrew Tate, when I was really packing a Dirk Diggler.

Did I feel like a fraud, sat there uncorking my delivery? Nah man. More like a fuckin’ MAVERICK, mate.

But then the morning rolled around. New Year’s Day 2023. I looked in the mirror and I felt SHOCKING. I’d put some flab back on recently, and my eyes looked tired and sad. Even my strict veganism had waned due to the asbo pop. I’d become a feral animal, murdering cows. smashing glass bottles over my head and flinging faeces at passing buses.

2022 had been MY YEAR, man. I got engaged, I got a PT and got fitter than I’ve ever been, I got my dream house, got my dream car, built a life where I feel sorta proud! And yet here I am, standing in the bogs, looking at a floppy, tired old man. And then I put my old man away and stared at the old guy in the mirror, and my heart just sort of… sank.

Somewhere back along the journey I just lost my way a little bit. More than a little bit, actually. I can’t, for the life in me, pinpoint the exact second that my resolve had derailed – but it definitely had. It had come right off those tracks. And the more I mull over it, the more I wonder if it was just a desire – after all those years of restraint – to be normal. Drink booze at weddings, like everyone else does. Celebrate the weekends, like everyone else does. Drink pints of Baileys at Xmas, like everyone else does.

Had my “year of drink” been worth it? On balance I’d say… No. Definitely fucking not. And let me assure you, if you’re sober and feeling occasionally tempted to hit the fuck-it-button, that I’d rather sit through an ENTIRE Coldplay show than go through that bullshit again. So don’t do it. You listen to yer uncle Jon.

So now it’s time to get back to where I was a year ago. Relight that fire in my belly. Stop wasting the mornings hanging out of my arse. Lose the love-handles. Take the bull by the knackers.

It’s gunna be a journey – and I’m taking you lovely c*nts with me ❤

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