Finished Dry July? Try Spud-free September next

3 months ago 22

As you read this, I’ll have just finished Dry July. I’ll be enjoying Saturated Saturday. Or perhaps Seriously Sozzled Sunday. Just kidding, of course, the whole point of Dry July is to reset your relationship with the demon drink, hopefully in a lasting way.

All the same, there were some tough moments, particularly when searching for zero-alcohol wines. One “shiraz” was so poor I turned over the label to ascertain which of Australia’s wine-making districts was responsible for the horror. Barossa perhaps? Coonawarra? In fact, the winery listed its address as Surry Hills, which did make me wonder from which side of Crown Street they’d sourced the grapes.

Dry July is over, but there are plenty more challenges to look forward to.

Another problem: you decide to distract yourself by watching a bunch of TV shows, only to realise that the characters in almost every program are constantly drinking. Hardly a scene goes by without everyone tucking into a glass of chardonnay, pouring a frothy beer, or marching into a party in which they are offered champagne in attractively frosted flutes.

Maybe they need a special warning at the start of the film. Not so much “strong sex scenes” as “constant drinking.”

It reminded me of the time we were renovating our kitchen. Whatever the drama, in any kitchen-based scene I was constantly distracted by the choice of benchtop. “Did you see that brutal murder,” I’d ask Jocasta, “and how easily the killer wiped the blood off those Corian benchtops? Maybe that’s the surface we should get.”

Jocasta would nod her agreement. “Yes, and the knife block, from which he sourced the murder weapon, appears to keep the blades nice and sharp.”

There’s a problem, too, for those of us with addictive personalities, as you tend replace one vice with another. I still remember giving up smoking 40 years ago, creating a spike in the sales of Tim Tams that must have caused the Arnott’s factory employees to work triple shifts. Every time I wanted a cigarette, particularly on a long drive, I’d reach for another packet of Tim Tams. Sydney to Goulburn was not so much 194 kilometres as three packs of Tim Tams and a strawberry milk chaser.

This time around it’s been dark chocolate – the New Zealand brand is the best – cashews, and the inhalation of a whole avocado at about 9pm each night. Dry July may have helped my liver, but not the size of my belly. The most lasting limit on my drinking may be my inability to fit through the turnstiles at the local grog shop.

Meanwhile, I’ve been compiling a list of my other bad habits, wondering which one I should tackle next. I’d like to sign up for Floss-your-teeth February, Spud-free September (much tougher than Dry July) and No-Nut November (just to allow the cashew industry to restock).

I’d also like to partake in Remember November, during which I’d try to memorise the birthdays of my wife and children, and – in the case of the children – to remember how old they are. The current situation – in which I make a guess five years short of their actual age – can’t last.

We could kick off with Moanless Monday, in which I’d pledge to get through a whole day without complaining.

As soon as you start listing your personality faults, you can end up with a whole catalogue of failures – not only one for every month, but one for every day of the week.

We could kick off with Moanless Monday, in which I’d pledge to get through a whole day without complaining about the state of the world, the skill or otherwise of other motorists, or the price of a bulk pack of dark chocolate from New Zealand.

Next up would be Toast-free Tuesday. I know that eating toast is not the worst habit in the world, but it’s no good once you’re onto your fourth slice of the morning, and each has been drenched in peanut butter. My dog Clancy, who has long ago appointed himself Minister for Toast, might not be a fan of Toast-free Tuesday, but he’ll just have to miss his regular taste-testing patrol.

Whinge-free Wednesday would follow on from Moanless Monday, but with a ban on different sorts of complaining. I’d pledge not to correct the grammar of the TV newsreader, to keep calm about the current price of a sandwich in central Sydney ($16.20!), and to avoid muttering the phrase “literally highway robbery” during every trip on Sydney’s toll road system.

Thursday would be Thirst-free Thursday, in which I would refrain from buying overpriced liquids when out and about, including, but not limited to, coffee, tea, chai latte, strawberry milk, and chardonnay (since when was it $14 a glass in a pub?).

Then it would be Photo-free Friday, in which I’d promise to resist the urge, when meeting friends, to pull out my phone and show off 15 different photos of the grandchildren.

“And here he is wearing a hat!”

The weekend? I think after all that weekday effort, we’ll be back to Saturated Saturday and Sozzled Sunday. Maybe you and I could have a drink together. I have some photos of the grandkids I’m just dying to show you.

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