Click. Whoosh. Fizzzzzzz.
My boyfriend cracks open his first can of Heineken as we settle into the sofa, watching pre-match coverage of last night’s England vs Serbia match. A glass of Coke, in a translucent pink glass, sits in front of me on our coffee table.
Outside, I hear chants of “Engerlandddd” from the bar a few doors down, the buzz of anticipation almost bubbling over before our first game of the UEFA Euro 2024.
Almost three hours later, a car drives past beeping its horn the entire way up the street. No doubt a designated driver celebrating England’s win.
Click. Whoosh. Fizzzzzzz.
The neighbouring couple ‘cheers’ their cocktail tins. We are sat in the park, the sun beating down on us. A picnic blanket separates our bodies from the luscious green grass and we’re surrounded by picky bits, Fanta Lemon and books.
Click. Whoosh. Fizzzzzzz.
It is a drizzly October evening and we haven’t seen the sun, or any blue sky, in weeks. May as well have a drink, right?
For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by alcohol and drinking culture. From grandparents enjoying a glass of wine with their Sunday dinner to busy beer gardens overflowing with pints of ales, lagers and ciders.
I have had a turbulent relationship with alcohol. In my late teens I would drink obscene amounts, often buying a bottle of Disaronno to drink before I even made it to the nightclub, then as Covid hit I had some time to reflect on just how much I was drinking. Post-lockdown I realised I hate being drunk (and the aftermath). I’ve been pretty much sober since 2021, save for a night out or two, and so far this year I’ve had four alcoholic drinks.
Barely touching alcohol or overly drinking regularly - guess which one people react negatively to?
It’s Britain. Britain is the problem.
Drinking is in our culture. In our blood. Pubs and pints, wine at weekends… our lives revolve around it.
I’m well aware that so many other countries have a similar relationship with alcohol, but Britain’s is a self-aware illness. We crack jokes about our reliance on booze - drowning our sorrows or drinking to our successes, priding ourselves on being able to drink more than the rest - to mask the actual dependence our society has on alcohol.
The first time I was ever actually drunk I was 14, four years younger than the legal drinking age in the UK. I was safe, at a house party with friends of the same age and parents around, and I know so many other people have similar experiences - they may have been even younger.
Britain plans everything around booze. I can bet you any money, if (and it’s a big “if”) England make it to the Euros final this year, our pubs will get longer licenses and many businesses will let employees come in late/work from home the following day to deal with their hangover.
We look forward to bank holiday weekends for an extra day of drinking. We can’t wait for New Year’s Eve because it’s an incredible excuse to wreck our livers.
And it’s all so normalised.
Such a toxic relationship with alcohol comes a horrific peer pressure to drink. I think younger generations are much more accepting than others, but it’s not unusual for someone not drinking to be questioned about it. Aren’t you bored? Are you pregnant? Do you have an alcohol problem? Go on, have a drink!
No, no, and no. I just don’t want to drink.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation regarding your choice to drink or not.
Like many things in this world, it has nothing to do with other people. So why is it so difficult to say “I’m not drinking” and not feel embarrassed?
Since making an active effort to cut down on my alcohol consumption I’ve been so much happier. I remember everything from the night before, I’ve saved money… even better, I haven’t experienced the dreaded hangxiety in well over a year.
This isn’t bashing those who choose to drink. Just like I want people to leave me and my sobriety alone, other people’s drinking habits are none of my business (unless I’m concerned for your health, of course!). But thanks to Britain’s centuries-long ties with pub culture and “boozing”, excessive drinking and basing our personalities around alcohol is so much more normalised than actively choosing not to drink.
It’s an evolving journey
My relationship with alcohol is something I’m still figuring out. In an ideal world, I would never come into contact with it (and that includes other people having access to booze) but because of the culture we’ve fostered in the UK that will never happen. And that’s okay. It’s just something I need to work on.
But your 20s are all about figuring out and working on things, right?
Loved reading about your journey! I'm in the US, but we have a fairly similar drinking culture. I stopped drinking in October 2023 and it has been the best decision I've ever made. Cheers to you on your journey!
This! I also struggle with British society's norms around drinking. Since lockdown i've tried to find things to do with friends that are *not* about drinking but it doesn't feel as casual as suggesting the pub for people you are just getting to know. I hate that! Great post :)