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How to smash Sober October – then stay off booze for good

Rob Temple gave up alcohol a year ago. Here is his practical guide to pubs, mocktail menus and well-meaning friends

“OK, who ordered the Cinderella?” a loud waitress shouted across the White Horse in Brancaster. What felt like 5,000 people turned to look at the big pink glass of liquid in the balloon glass perched on a tray. I think I overheard Del Boy say, “Bloody hell, bit much, innit?”

“Erm… me… I ordered the… erm… ”

“The Cinderella?”

“Just put it down, please.”

I’m in touch with my feminine side, just not my four-year-old feminine side. This drink looked like it was designed by Minnie Mouse. Yet it felt like a celebration, because it existed.

I feel 2022 is the year we’ve really tried to give non-tipsiness a proper go. Bars are eager to join the revolution (and it means they can charge £9 for a lemonade). We have some very sophisticated offerings on non-alcoholic menus, but a lot still look like the contents of glow sticks and are called things like this Cinderella monstrosity (tasty, though), or the virgin something-orother, or, as I saw in the Ivy in Cambridge last week, the Cos-no-politan – ha, yes, very funny. I went for the Angelic Amaretti Sour. It’s all either childish puns or far too nicey nice – as in, painfully unnaughty.

But once again, I can’t complain: it wasn’t long ago that the non-drinking male had eight pints of Diet Coke then a drive home – now there’s a vast nonbinary choice living between the Cinderella and the Pint o’ Coke. Manufacturers and investors are really going for it. The Dragons, Lord Sugar and Gordon Ramsay all jump up on TV, dollar signs beaming, to tell us the boozeless market is worth billions.

A couple of months ago, I wrote in this paper about how I’d given up the grog (I had to or else I’d die, the doc promised). So I did (give up) for more than a year now, with the help of AA. After writing the piece, I prepared myself for vitriol – people can’t half get their knickers in a twist in a comments section. And Britain loves a drink, and this article was anti-drink (for me, anyway; I made sure to say that you personally can drink paint for all I mind). I’ll be crucified, I thought.

Turns out I was, in part, wrong. A lot of people enjoyed the article and even thanked me. Turns out loads of you want to give up, or have a loved one with a yellowing life freed from beneath a Special Brew Supernova in their living room. So, in honour of Sober October, I was asked to follow up with a more practical guide to giving up and the stuff I learnt along the way.

The good news: giving up is hip. It’s now. The times have a-changed. Only a few years ago you’d make up weird excuses for not drinking… you had a headache, you had eczema, you had an exam in the morning, you were driving… antibiotics! You were trying to cut down a bit (code for: I think I have a serious problem). Now you can just say “I don’t drink” or “I don’t want to drink today’’ and any normal 2022 human will reply, “Yep, fine” rather than leaning in and slurring “Is everything OK?” with concerned pinot breath.

It’s the sober good times and the pubs know it. Prohibition is so cool they’ll soon be making zero per cent bathtub gin. Joints are proud of their lists of nonspirits and booze experts are loving the word “botanicals”. If you don’t want soda and lime, you’ve more choices. Now you just have to know how to ask for them. I’m not talking about your server: they won’t care what you order (though – small tip for when ordering a mocktail – double check you’re being served no alcohol. Mixologists, despite sounding like scientists, are people too. A bartender’s mistake once led me to two weeks of detox). No, I’m talking about your friends and colleagues. It’s only a few years since you held a zero

No one ever ends up having to apologise for having a bit too little to drink

per cent beer so nobody could see the label. Probably more so if you’re a man – some may call you a wimp (as I got labelled in the comments section) for wanting a Mockjito or a No Sex on the Beach, as if there’s anything macho about getting a bit dizzy off a glass of rosé. Don’t pay any mind. If people are real friends, they’ll want you as healthy and happy as possible.

If they throw a tantrum because they now have to drink lager alone, you can take it one of two ways: talk to them, maybe suggest they have a problem and buy them a Cinderella; or just be happy about one less Christmas card to buy. I told my friend Woody that I’d probably not be going to festivals with him for a year while I get used to sobriety. He said he’d just go sober too. That’s a true pal.

Now, with strangers, colleagues and acquaintances, there are more nuclear options. The simpler of these is just to say, “Piss off, red face – I’m out of the game, see?” but that’s a tad strong. The super-nuclear option is to go off on one about how bad alcohol is for health; to go full self-help, sober superman – the guy who says, “Don’t ask me why I’m not drinking, ask yourself why you are!”

But come on, calm down, you’re at a party and you’ll upset the host. Remember, not everyone has a problem. You wouldn’t deal with your high cholesterol by walking through McDonald’s throwing statins at everyone. Might it be that people are just curious? Maybe they don’t want to drink either but don’t know if that’s allowed. Maybe you’ll inspire someone to join you in a Cinderella or two (you really only need one, though: it’s the size of a bath). They might even call themselves “sober curious”, which seems an unnecessarily modern term that sells books quicker than what it means: “cutting down a bit”.

And why get angry at all if someone notices you’re not drinking? What a compliment! They think you look shiny but in a good way. They think you don’t smell of strong trifle. People might look around the party and think, “I’m sure there used to be a loud plonker around these parts?” and you’ll be standing suavely in a corner with a No-Chucks Fizz thinking, “That was me.”

So as far as confidence and general comfortableness goes, restaurants top the list (over bars and parties). The main reason being, in a restaurant you can concentrate on chewing rather than slurping. A lot of the nice gaffs these days have a large, if slightly eccentric, choice of mocktails, and nobody really notices what you’re drinking, unless of course it’s wine. With the old vino you’re just stuck with saying, “I don’t want any, thanks,” and as my old sponsor Sean would say, “It is what it is.” However, sorting the possibly rather unfair bill that wine causes is another problem, and probably needs its own 1,500 words. (Nope, sorry, I’m chickening out on answering that one. No room anyway.)

Bars are still a little at the uneasy end for me, primarily because there’s not so much eating and not so much sitting. At the start of my sobriety, holding a soft drink felt a bit like (to me, in my odd head) like I was one of those aftershave salesmen standing in a shopping centre, and the cologne I was holding was called “Wuss”. But after a year sober, I’m mostly comfortable with my Becks Blue or Coke Zero. A lot of the comfortable factor is dependent on who you’re with. With good friends, alcohol doesn’t factor in at all. Stuck with acquaintances, however, I do tend to slip away around Cinderella number four (before my bladder explodes). Without booze in bars, I mostly find myself thinking, “What’s the point of being in this room?”

House-party enjoyment is again hugely dependent on who’s there and how many attendees are there to be legless. Fifty people? Rare, but easy to slip away from. Ten and below and it starts to become a bit more awkward to leave particularly early. But if the conversation is as boring as two weeks of listening to post-match football interviews and you’re getting to an almost suicidal stage, eyeing up the knife block, it’s best to just make an excuse and go. Don’t hang about, from excuse to door should take you no longer than 30 seconds. Holding your stomach, wincing and saying sorry a lot works well, makes people move out the way quickly, like you’re suddenly on fire.

If you ask me, any party with eight people or fewer should always have a large cake. Boring conversation doesn’t matter a jot when there’s a large slice of sponge to be standing with. Think how many wedding chats have been made more than bearable by the humble gateaux. One thing that mustn’t be forgotten in restaurants, bars and parties, is that the shy, newbie non-drinker holds a major trump card: everyone loves a free Uber (you, if you want it).

And if it’s your own party, it’s a lot easier to end it if you don’t drink, mainly because you’ll be keen to (why did you even organise it, you loon?). Just clap, shout “right!” then suggest all heading on to a private late bar for afters. Once the last person has their scarf on and is out the door, lock up and head up to bed.

Something to keep in mind through all of this, which Sean taught me, is that nobody really cares what you’re doing. So, with that said, ignore most of what I’ve just said.

OK, so restaurants and bars are easy, but what about office parties? Well, do office parties still exist? Isn’t everything on a screen now? Is getting pissed while looking at your boss still a thing? Seems being recorded on TikTok being a drunk wally would be an easy way to get fired. Being fired in 2022 is not a good idea. Doing a Zoom baking course seems more likely than drinking with colleagues these days from

what I see in the Sunday supplements.

Now, here’s a tricky one: what about when you just fancy one but you know you shouldn’t drink at all for... reasons, and everyone around you knows those reasons. “Why can’t I just have a drink? Leave me alone, killjoy!” you might think. Well, only you know the answer as to whether you should have one, or if you’re able to stop at one or two. Have you tried before? How did it go? Why are people looking scared at the idea of you and an open bar? “But the party is boring! I’m shy! I want to have fun!” Fair enough, but the poor people who’ll be stuck with you just want to have fun, too.

Christmas is especially tricky for the drinker who wants to cut down. Surely it’s every Brit’s right to have a bottle of Baileys and a few Snowballs and then ruin Pictionary in a fun way while kneeling at the living room table… Maybe just go for it, like the old days. Sometimes I wish I still could – spending Christmas morning lying on the bathroom floor, mini pencil stuck to my face – great times! Yes this is sarcasm. I’ve been teetotal for a year but haven’t had a drink in December for five years. No hangovers in the twelfth month is something rather special. I urge everyone to try it. It feels so smug and, dare I say it, holy. And you can mull any old thing these days, doesn’t have to be wine. Mull some Ribena if you like.

But take heart, if you’re starting to worry booze might be harming your health, then there’s never been a more accommodating time to try ditching it. Start by bringing a bottle of something colourful, alluring and booze-free to the party for everyone to try. The attempt to make Wobbly Ken a bit steadier will be appreciated by the host. There seem to be fewer purple people ruining shindigs these days, standing really close to your face, telling you the same story 10 times in a row, but not in an endearing completely sober way, like my dad would do, but in a slurry braindamaged way.

If you want to have “just one” but know things’ll go bad, just remember:

1. You know what happens. 2. You know Coke tastes better than wine. 3. Nobody has ever regretted drinking too little.

4. There’s nothing wrong with quiet people, many people actually enjoy their company more than loud ones.

5. Remember those mocktails! Yum. Here are some of the other odd reader comments among the hundreds of lovely ones from my original article:

1. “I stopped drinking; it was easy. Why write a whole column about it?” Well, because for me and many others it isn’t easy, so we need all the help we can get.

2. “You only live once!” Precisely why I stopped, old fruit.

3. “Why should the world have to change just because you’re sober?” Who said it should? Drink as you please.

Just because fewer people are jumping off cliffs doesn’t mean you have to stop. 4. “We’re all going to die anyway.” My sponsor Sean died last year, sober, of cancer. “What a waste,” someone said: 16 years sober and he dies anyway. Sean was so happy for those 16 years sober; he wished he had had more. He wished he’d found a way out sooner, like I did. In May last year, when paramedic, Neil, took me to Addenbrookes, I said to him: “If only I could make a year sober, but I know I won’t.” He pointed at himself and said: “Fifteen years, mate, 15 years clean and dry. If I can do it, you can.” I broke down in tears (what a wimp) as for the first time I thought “maybe I can”.

Last week, one of my Telegraph editors congratulated me on one year and counting “from someone 12 years and counting”. Wow, I thought, we’re everywhere! We’re everywhere, and we’re taking over the cocktail menus. Cinderella, anyone?

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