In Pictures: The Amazing Effects Of Quitting Booze

Sup!

When I first started this blog, back in 2016 (at 1yr sober), my intention was always to take it beyond the boundaries of just my own experiences. One bloke’s perspective is fine for a while, but it can start to become stale for 2 main reasons:

  1. The path that you walk, through problem drinking and then into sobriety, will more than likely resonate with some people, but you’re unlikely to be in a position that you can relate to all booze-issue experiences – for example: the whole ‘wine o’clock school-run mums’ thing is pretty alien to me, as is the idea of needing to drink every morning before facing the world. However! I can write all day long about weekend binges and doing silly things like getting your pink bits out in inappropriate public venues – so blogging ones own views can be a bit one-dimensional and blinkered.
  2. Man, I’ve already written nearly 100 blogs on this subject (including a few articles for magazines etc…) – so that’s probably like 200,000 words about ME and MY THOUGHTS. At some point, I’m going to run out of things to say (oh precious day)…

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Sobriety: The Key To Punching FEAR In The DICK

A couple of weeks ago I was walking alone around Willen Lake, which is a lovely big lake in Milton Keynes famed for it’s wakeboarding circuit and abundance of swans and geese and other wildlife. The weather was sweltering, and I was looking for a patch of lakeside grass to plonk myself on for an hour or two where I could enjoy the cool breeze off the water, whilst flicking through a knitting mag and listening to some rousing oompah music on my Spotify. Continue reading

A Night On The Piss

You read a lot about seemingly staunch, fully ‘converted’, solidly-grounded non-drinkers with three, four, five years of sobriety under their belts that suddenly go POP and fall off the wagon. Sometimes this can be a spectacular Gascoigne-esque fall, where the booze-victim finds themselves staggering around an off licence in a dressing gown with their tackle hanging out, and other times this can just mean a couple of wines or beers at home, before a fitful sleep and a fleeting return to the world of abstinence with the counter zero’d (or not – depending whether you view relapse as an expected part of recovery).

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Booze & Work: The Doom-Laden Box Of Fuckoff

In my world, in my little corner of East Milton Keynes (Eastside bitches), it’s been a good few weeks for getting things done. I’m at the start of a week off work – I’m heading soon to a bit of a solo writers retreat in a caravan back oop naarth – and I feel like I’ve literally skidded sideways into the weekend after tying up a fuckload of loose ends. In the last few days the car has been serviced, I’ve taken thirteen people from work on a cool little indoor climbing and caving experience, I’ve hosted a smart little ‘retro gaming & pizza’ party at my gaff (and fucking WON the gaming competition – touch me), I’ve spent a couple of long days getting shit sorted in London, and I’ve even squeezed in a few reet sweaty 10km runs. All of this is cool, and even in my boozing days I like to think I wasn’t the type to sit about in my grundies and let life pass me by, but one BIG thing that has always been good at putting a black cloud over things for me – and that has stuck through me like a giant mucky kebab skewer for years and years – is the unshakable feeling that I’m shite at my job, and that handing over before a holiday will expose me for what I really am. And this worry is far-reaching…

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How To Stop The ‘Fuck-Its’

A few days ago I was on Facebook looking for bad grammar to correct, and other things to feel smug about (what of it??) when a picture popped up, posted by a mate who was sat on a train in Manchester. The picture was innocent enough – I think he was waiting for the choo-choo to leave the station and take him to a faraway rock gig or whatever – but the thing that caught my eye, even caused a sudden jolt to pass through my knackers, was the open can of Boddingtons Bitter sat on the table at the bottom of the picture.

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The Scribbler

Before moving to Milton Keynes I spent around 5 years working in Manchester city centre, which – despite the long travelling times – I really enjoyed. It was the buzz of the whole place which I liked to get caught up in, and even my daily walk down Whitworth Street from Piccadilly Train Station felt like a stroll through the centre of the universe. I still think Manchester pips London as my favourite UK city, and we even went back up there for our joint stag/hen do earlier this year. Continue reading

Easter Sober Musings

In a few months I’ll have been sober for two years. It’s flown by, but the changes have been huge – and it feels a bit surreal when I look back at drunk Jon and his antics (the chubby scamp). In comparison life appears to have become quite ‘normal’. I keep fit, I visit friends, I go to gigs, I watch movies, I wash my car (okay that one’s a lie – I pay these local Polish guys to do it), I read books, and I’ve even grown up a bit and bought a flat with the missus. Continue reading

Sobriety Isn’t All Unicorns & Glittery Rainbow Farts

I’m aware that my blog is sometimes sickeningly positive, and even though sobriety has given me a second chance at life – just like life in general: there can be bad times. I’m really keen to keep all of the experiences I write about as unfiltered and as true-to-life as possible, so on that note – here is a little story about what happened to me this weekend, and about how being sober can sometimes (but hardly ever) be the problem rather than the solution. Continue reading