Ploughman's lunch

Cottage loaf - I can bake too.

If I had to make a call for 'last meal on earth', then I reckon a picnic would come top of my list—with a flask of tea and a blanket to sit on, ideally, in the lee of the Cheviot Hills. Such is my land of lost content...

But for an average Tuesday when it's more likely raining and the wind blowing hard, I'll settle for a ploughman's lunch as a close second best. Especially with a hunk of my cottage loaf to go with the cheddar, the pickled onions, obligatory chutney and of course, a sliced apple on the side. 

I made one last week—comfort food of a sort—and my son said it was like my being in France (as I'd hoped to have been). He was no doubt thinking of the brie and salami we buy at the market, the huge plum tomatoes, the fresh baguettes from our village baker...  Summers in the Alps are fuelled by this fare.

But for all the similarities I reckon he's wrong, because there are few meals more English than a hearty ploughman's - pickled onions for a start, you don't get them in the Haute Savoie. Nor do you find chutney very easily, and as for apples - pah: Golden Delicious at best and that's a misnomer if ever there was one.

I jest of course, for the food in France is fabulous, and were I to drink, the wine would be too. But we shouldn't underestimate the delights of our own. I'm serious when I say I would rank a ploughman's in my favourite meals. Last week I accompanied mine with a glass of alcohol-free beer and finished off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Delightful.

George Orwell wrote that the best of British food lay in our bread, cheese and puddings. He rated haggis too and I'd join him in that, though not for a picnic; English apples—and Scottish raspberries—we'd both agree, are the best in the world.  I wish I'd had some home-grown tomatoes with my platter last week, that would have topped it off to perfection.

Or maybe, I could have followed it with a rhubarb fool like the one Jane made on Saturday. That's another of our specialities even if the plant comes originally from elsewhere—though try telling them as much in Yorkshire; forced rhubarb from Wakefield was once despatched daily to London to meet the demand.

As was stilton cheese which is named after the village on the A1 where the carriages stopped to pick up supplies. Pubs sometimes offer it as an alternative to cheddar in their ploughman's; others add ham, a pork pie or even a pickled egg.  No end of variation I guess, but I'll stick to the basics thanks very much.

It's not that I'm a Luddite, nor that I can't appreciate anything more sophisticated. Rather, it's that simple foods and settings are what gives me most pleasure. I'd rather have fish and chips by the quay than Dover sole in a fancy restaurant; I rate good eggs more highly than any caviar... My favourite food in all the world is homemade bread and jam.

Which come to think of it, would make a fine last meal in itself.

Staying alcohol free - challenge and reflection

Yesterday I wrote in celebration of being alcohol-free for twelve months.

Today, more soberly, I'm going to share some of the challenges in doing so, at least as I experienced them. This can't be definitive, for everyone will take a different path - but I hope it's a thoughtful reflection that will resonate with others, whether they've 'taken the pledge' themselves, or are supporting someone who's giving it a go.

For me, there were four key challenges - roughly speaking they were experienced sequentially, but not entirely so, and one year on, all of them remain prescient in some form or other.

Sun's over the yardarm...

The first challenge is simply to overcome the habit of drinking.

Anyone committing to a 'dry January' or 'sober October' will know what I mean. You don't have to be an alcoholic to know that lip-puckering feeling as the evening draws in and you settle down for a TV drama, or return from a stressful day at the office and head straight to the fridge.

It took me a good few weeks to lessen the habitual pangs, and even now the urge to have a drink can be triggered by association.  It's often linked to time and place, so finding alternatives activities at peak times (I often went swimming) and avoiding obvious temptations like a big night out at the pub, will help to get you through.

For me, the 'yardarm' urges came in waves - and especially so in the first three months.  At around about 100 days, there was a significant easing, and the other challenges were more likely to derail progress.

Couldn't you just...

I'd suggest that nowadays, for almost anyone who gave up smoking, very few of their friends would tempt them to ' have a puff...'  There's a universal acceptance that smoking's a habit worth kicking - if you succeed, then expect congratulations to flow and your advice to be sought by others.

Not so with alcohol.

One of the most sustained challenges all abstainers will face is the tacit resistance it engenders. By the far the majority of those around me - be they friends, colleagues or even family - would rather I'd had the odd glass, joined in the fun, just drank at the weekend...  almost anything but giving up for good.

Unlike with not smoking, it seems our not drinking, mildly threatens the fact that they do. Those questioning might not see it that way  - indeed some may genuinely worry you'll miss out, or perhaps fear the loss of friendship based on shared experience - but deep down I think it's true.

I realise that I too have been guilty of similar behaviour - one of my closest colleagues is vegetarian and it recently struck me that for years I'd badgered him to defend the logic of his decision. Why did I feel the need to do that I wonder?

I've read of people who try to deflect the constant questioning by falsely declaring they've signed up to a charity 'stay dry' challenge. I can understand why they might do so, but it all feels a bit temporary - for the day they say otherwise, I'd bet all the Bacardi in Barbados that the questioning and suggestions would start again.

Eventually, close friends are likely to give you some slack; but the collective impact of what amounts to a widespread reluctance, verging on resistance, is real and substantial. I liken it to a gravitational pull - never beyond my strength, but always, inescapably, tugging away.

Those you care about most...

In counter-point to the resistance of others, is the need to maintain the relationships with those closest to you.  With so much of our leisure centred on - or at least associated with - alcohol, it's naive to think there's no impact or effort to be made.

The single biggest thing I miss as a non-drinker is not the nights out, the rush of spirits in my bloodstream, or even the taste of Chablis with oysters... it's sitting down with Jane and sharing a bottle of plonk with a plate of nibbles and an episode of Poirot on the television.  In fact, of all the challenges, this is the one that almost broke me - for these little impromptus are central to the pattern of our lives and relationships.

Similarly, my best and oldest friend used to love opening a few beers when I came round on a Sunday night. While I wouldn't describe it as the highlight of his week, the truth is, my sipping tea doesn't quite make for the same atmosphere. I get that, and it's taken time - and real friendship - to come through.

Luckily, the people who pressured me the least turned out to be those I hold most dear. But I still invested time in talking to them, acknowledging the downsides and lamenting the loss of some shared experiences - while explaining that overall I was so much happier and healthier as a non-drinker. And you know what... once you put it that way, almost everybody smiles.

Beyond a year...

I read somewhere, that in making a lifestyle change, twelve months is a seminal milestone.  Maintain a diet for that long and you're more likely to keep the weight off - the same principle applies to the habit of regular exercise or taking up a hobby.

So if you go a year without booze, it's no coincidence that one of the first the questions you'll be asked (and indeed, you may ask it of yourself) is, what next?

The view I hear most - largely from those who say 'couldn't you just..' - is that I should start drinking again, taking confidence that I could moderate my intake in future.  It's a sort of 'hard reset' hypothesis - by abstaining for so long, staying within recommended guidelines would be a breeze.

The diametric position, as expressed by a friend who's also stopped drinking this year, is to query why on earth you'd go back?  If you're demonstrably happier, healthier and wealthier, then why restart behaviours that threaten all you've worked so hard to achieve?

It's not a simple choice.

I'm not so 'born again' that I can't see there are many joys in drinking moderately - nor do I fear a gradual slippage back to some imaginary nadir. On the other hand, I feel better than I have for years, and (perhaps perversely for someone who never suffered too badly from hangovers) have come to dread the thought of ever again waking up with a thumping head and dry mouth.

So at least for now, I'm staying off the booze.

In many ways that decision is driven by the simplicity of what's required - total abstinence is a 'bright line' that's easy to see and you just don't cross it!

Anything else - moderating to limits; high days and holidays; only drinking in France - even if I were confident of success, would require a level of self-discipline that's grinding to maintain.

But in truth, there's more to it than that - and it's something to do with 'who' I've become.

After a year without booze, I've started to think of myself not as someone who's 'giving up', but as someone who simply doesn't drink!  Being a non-drinker has become part of my identity, and the fact is, I like that more than the one I had before.

I know that's a touch didactic - and maybe at some point, I'll be up for a fuzzier path.

But for now, I've had enough of challenges.

Going alcohol free - a celebration

Taking the pledge - old style

One year ago yesterday I raised some eyebrows when writing on this blog that I was giving up the booze until Christmas.  Even then, I knew I wanted to go further, but was concerned at becoming a hostage to fortune. By the time January came along, I tentatively told friends and family that I was aiming for a full twelve months...

The reticence to declare is indicative of the pressures and challenges of going alcohol-free. I've more to say on that subject shortly, but today it's time for an impromptu celebration - not least because I'd miscalculated and thought I'd given up the booze a week later than I did!

Some people I know might ask, apart from the milestone, what's to celebrate? Isn't a day without wine, like a day without sunshine?  Surely my year's been unremittingly grey; the joie de vivre dulled by the absence of aqua vita and all that comes with it?

To suggest there is no issue here would be disingenuous - of course, there are downsides; the ubiquity of alcohol in our culture is not because it's all bad.

But for every high, there's a corresponding low, and it's the sum total (together with its trajectory) which matters most.  Perhaps that, above all, is what I've confirmed this year - by giving up one big thing in favour of many apparently smaller gains, life can be better, rather than diminished.

Accepting it's not all been a breeze, here are some of the things I'm smiling at this morning:

• The support of Jane who's been brilliant throughout
• Losing twenty pounds in weight
• Saving a thousand pounds in cash - quite possibly double
• A massive reduction in anxiety - and what little I have passes more quickly
• Improved sleep
• No hangovers, fuzzy head, dry mouth or that sense of 'what was I thinking... - indeed, I now fear that these would ever come back.
• A material improvement in my eczema
• A lowering of just about every health risk score going 
• Knowing better who your real friends are 
• A new (and truer) sense of self and identity

That's not even a complete list, but you'll get the point.

Ironically for a wordsmith, something I've struggled with most, is how best to describe what I was setting out to do - or perhaps more accurately, what I'd become.  Describing myself as teetotal seemed over the top, and yet going through the 'one year no beer' spiel wasn't accurate any more either.  Jane, who's a master at these things, suggested that my habit of announcing  'I don't drink alcohol,' sounded like I was preaching, and more troubled by booze than I am. 

In truth, I was never an alcoholic -  just an average middle-class bloke, in typical denial over how much and how regularly I drank.  Nor have I become a zealot; I don't look down on those who enjoy a few beers - the last thing I want is to get into a discussion on the rights and wrongs of my decision.

And so, last night, when offered some wine at a neighbour's party I simply said, thanks, but I don't drink...    And you know what? 

Nobody batted an eye. 

Six months, no beer and a crossword

The other day I realised it was more than six months’ since I’d drunk any alcohol. The milestone had passed without my noticing, and I might have gone longer unawares had it not been for the morning crossword. 

Its final clue posed: Result of multiplication - 7 letters. 

The answer, for those who can’t wait, is given below.

Quite why the solution should trigger thoughts on sobriety says as much about my lateral mindset as any inherent logic - but it’s instructive nonetheless. For what I've discovered these last six months, is that quitting alcohol is a bit like putting money in the bank - at first there’s not a lot to show, but after a while, the interest compounds.  

And in my experience, I'd say the rates are pretty high.  

For starters I've lost ten kilos. In not drinking I’ve foregone tens of thousands of 'dead calories’; add to that a reduction in associated snacking, and compound the gains by taking more exercise because I have more energy -  and the net result is the easiest diet I've ever been on.

There’s a noticeable financial benefit too. It’s harder to be precise here, but I reckon in my case the saving is around thirty pounds a week after including the odd drink in the pub and wine at restaurants. On that basis if I stay dry for a year, all our utility bills are covered. 

Meanwhile, I’m sleeping better, worrying less, and haven’t had a head ache in months. The icing on the cake - or more accurately, ’off my scalp’ - is that my persistent eczema has almost gone.

None of this should be a surprise.  

We all know that alcohol is a mild poison; that in quantity it induces weight gain, diabetes, cancer.. and in some cases, grips with an addiction that can be life destroying. Second to smoking, giving up alcohol is just about the best thing you can do for your health. 

But let’s face it, that’s not the way most of us view a few beers or a bottle of sauvignon on a night in. 

Rather we see booze as harmless fun; it helps us to relax; it’s part of a good night out - and it tastes great too, doesn’t it?  Even after six months abstinence I’d concur with most of that - so feeling this positive about not drinking is somewhat of a surprise. 

And let’s face it, abstaining is bloody hard - even for people like me who didn’t drink a great deal in the first place. Not only are there habitual cravings to deal with, there are disruptions to our social patterns, and impacts on our partners and friends…  The consequence I found most difficult to deal with was Jane saying how much she missed us not sharing a bottle of wine together.

Alcohol is now so central to our culture that giving it up also invites a surprising amount of resistance. Why not just cut out wine - how about drinking only at weekends - when are you starting again; you’re making us feel bad…  The pressure to justify sobriety is a phenomenon so universal that support websites regularly offer tips on how to ‘come out’ as a non-drinker.  One I read recently  advised telling friends that you’ve taken up a year-long challenge for charity… Really?

But this is a time to celebrate not to analyse.

For despite the challenges, having stuck with it, I’m more motivated than ever to keep going. I guess it’s like any achievement - what at first seemed improbable, gets easier over time. The cravings subside more quickly than you’d imagine (about 60 to 90 days is key); real friends quickly accept your decision (and those few that don’t, well…); there’s even a slight danger of smugness. For in viewing the world unfiltered by booze - especially in the mornings - I've discovered a joy as intoxicating and as achingly more-ish as any good malt whisky.  

And that’s a very fine product* indeed.

-------------

*  Result of multiplication (7): Product.

Spending less; living more?

I learned too late that today is national buy nothing day. I'd have taken part, had we not already visited the hardware shop to collect a few bits for our builder - coming away eighty quid lighter! Still, it's miracle enough to have a builder in Pembrokeshire, so I'd probably have turned a blind eye to construction consumables even if we'd known in time.

I like the idea of buying nothing for a while. In fact, I'd be up for a buy nothing week, or even a month - except on reflection that wouldn't be very practical. But even if we only bought nothing for a day, what about the cost of electricity (does that count?) or consuming the food we'd bought the day before?

Truth is, these campaigns aren't meant to be philosophically or practically perfect; they are set up to highlight a particular issue - in this case, the inequality between spending in the developed and developing world. The point is not to so much to make an immediate difference but to encourage changes that have a more sustainable effect.

My own interest lies less in the wealth disparity of nations than in the misguidance of those who think consumerism is the answer to personal fulfilment. We know from scientific research that once a certain threshold is passed (and that point is critical), the relationship between wealth and happiness is actually quite tenuous. Most of us know too that the things which matter most, seldom cost a lot.

I've long fancied the idea of reliving the Butlins' promise of a 'week's family holiday for a week's wage' - and seeing if we enjoyed it as much as when spending vastly greater sums. Based on an average UK wage the only possible way would be to go camping at a simple site, spend the days walking outdoors, cook meals on a barbecue, have star parties at night... Wait a moment, that's what I like doing best!

Some years ago I met Satish Kumar, famous for walking, in the Sixties, from India to The West. He did so without any money, carrying a peace gift of tea for the world's premier leaders; he has since become a leading ecology and anti-consumerism activist. I remember him asserting in a panel interview, 'Life isn't better for having more things.' And when challenged to declare what was largest consumer item he'd bought in the last five years, he replied, None. Inspiring man.

Now I have to be careful here - very careful in fact. Because of course, I spend in much the same way as anyone else - on cars, houses, books, computers, clothes, builders' bits and bobs on a Saturday morning... I also have an excellent job and with that comes income well beyond the happiness threshold I mentioned earlier. I might think I'm not especially materialistic, but the hard facts are that I spend more than the average person in the UK, never mind the developing world.

But I hope I've retained a sense of perspective. I find it an irony and a sadness that so many of the highest earners I know are also those with the largest debts - and frankly the shallowest lifestyles. One of my life's ambitions is never to lose touch with simpler pleasures - if I ever start thinking that fancy restaurants are intrinsically better than a good picnic then I'll know I'm in trouble. Another is to cherish my relative security - valuing it above any thrill or ego boost which yet more possessions might provide.

Broadly - though I'd stress in the context of middle class comfort - I've held to those ideals, and try to encourage the same in my children. If spending one day spending nothing at all helps to reinforce those values, then I'm all for it.