The medina, Marrakech

I haven’t come to Morocco because of the predominantly alcohol-free culture. Nor have I come because of my fondness for couscous or tagines, or because I like having the crap hassled out of me. No – I’ve come because I’m looking for somewhere to get some serious writing done. What I’ve not factored in is the distractions, and one of the biggest distractions of that of the smells.

You could walk around Morocco with your eyes closed, and you’d still be party to a sensual experience. Along with numerous cuts and bruises, of course, and some strange looks (though you’d be oblivious to the latter anyway, so that’s kind of alright). Just wandering down a typical market street, you pass through drifting scent-clouds of everything from cumin to fresh bread, from snail soup to resinous incense.

Minted

One of the classic Moroccan scents is that of mint, not only from fresh bundles of the stuff in the market, but also in the guise of green tea with mint, the steamy vapour rising up from the little glass cups accompanying a shared ornate metal teapot, else from individual beakers stuffed with branch-like sprigs of the stuff.

Being a non-drinker, it’s always great when you come across a way of socialising that doesn’t revolve around alcohol, and this definitely falls into that category.

Time for tea (photo: twenty_questions)

It makes for a very pleasant social experience, diving into a little hole-in-the-wall place with a friend and greeting the locals there, before going through the pouring and re-pouring process that I think is meant to aerate it and makes it ready for drinking (actually I have no idea what it achieves – we just saw them doing it and followed suit). This is followed by something of a small mutual celebration when one of you accurately nails the right pouring height: high enough that it’s churning and frothing in the bottom of the glass, but not so high that it’s coating everyone in a two-metre radius in a patina of sticky mint juice.

Whilst I am a big fan of the drink, my teeth are most definitely not – it comes sweetened as standard, and tastes strange any other way. I quickly regret it on the couple of occasions I dissolve one of the Lego Duplo-sized sugar bricks in there without tasting it first.

Tea isn’t the only escape from alcohol, there’s also the Hammam (public steam bath), but I’ll never find out what one of those smells like as I choose against a visit: my skin gets cross at the thought of mere soap, so a firm scrubbing with a sand-paper like glove is not really my thing.

Dry times

Despite Morocco being a predominantly dry country, for religious reasons, alcohol is still actually available – it’s just a bit more of a faff to get hold of than in most places. Some of the other foreigners I met in the port town of Essaouira are showing a hankering for it, so I join them on their quest to see what they can find. It does take me by surprise when I see people going out their way to acquire alcohol – I’m always a bit like ‘Oh, I’d forgotten people are so into that stuff’.

I spot one customer tucking such a package up the sleeve of his jacket as he leaves, like an alcoholic magician.

We find an alcohol-shop just outside the medina (old city) – the boxes of Heineken, Carlsberg and Casablanca (a Moroccan brew) piled up in the window being the giveaway. It’s a funny little place – despite being windowed and having an open feel to it, there are only men inside, and all purchases are getting wrapped in newspaper by the attendants. I spot one customer tucking such a package up the sleeve of his jacket as he leaves, like an alcoholic magician.

One of my friends is particularly happy at acquiring a bottle of rum, given the translational difficulties he has to overcome to do so. Only to discover once back at the hostel that he’s actually purchased a 70 Dirham (7 Euro) bottle of sugar syrup.

Stuffing

Moving on from Essaouira, the capital city of Rabat turns out to be a surprisingly good escape from the tourist trail, with its clean, crisp new town and hassle-free medina. Whilst the day is good for exploring the jigsaw-puzzle alleys – which, as in much of Morocco, owned by cats and rented to humans – the evening is time to follow your nose and graze at the food stalls.

This means communicating of course, and that’s not always straightforward. I generally start in appalling French, accidentally switch to Spanish (which my brain for some reason considers to be the default foreign language) and end up in English after the stall holder interrupts with the few words he knows. Finally, I terminate the conversation with a cheery ‘Šukran!’ as if we’ve been conversing fluently in Moroccan Arabic the whole time.

The cats of Rabat

In Chefchaouen, meanwhile – a captivating town of blue-washed buildings nestling in the Rif mountains – the collision of scents takes a distinct turn for the hippiesh due to the availability of more mind-bending substances.

One thing I find in general in Morocco is that it’s kind of strange being out in the evening and not having the social scene dominated by bars. They do exist, apparently, although I’m told they tend to be fairly grim, male-only affairs. That said, a lot of the tea-houses can be similar: on my evening wanders I see plenty of dense, smoky establishments of packed with men, their lines of sight all converging on the wall-mounted television showing football.

In the end I leave Morocco not having achieved what I intended – my writing suffered at the hands of the cold winter weather (most rooms aren’t heated) as well as the sheer distraction levels of being in such a fascinating country. But if I was looking for an exploration of the olfactory senses, then this would be a good place: Morocco certainly makes a lot of scents.

Yeah I know. Sorry.

Kenyan wedding (photo: Reece McMillan)

People do drink alcohol in Kenya but, more than alcohol, soccer is gospel, and everyone has their team. In fact, the only thing that trumps soccer in the eyes of Kenyans, is gospel itself. Kenya is, indeed, a religious nation, and it shows in the drinking culture. At times, you can actually struggle to find an eating establishment which hasn’t been ‘saved’, taking the decision of a dry night out of your hands.

That said, those that choose to drink definitely choose to drink. Drinkers can be roughly divided into two general categories: the poor and the rich. In the slums and the poorer area of the country a local – often lethal – homebrew is consumed. Despite being an unregulated concoction of ingredients that can even include battery acid, it is the drop of choice due to the low asking price and high alcohol content. Any occasion is excuse enough for a drink – grieving, depression or just the need for something to do – with some men starting just as soon as they are able to drag themselves from the couch in the morning. Within this setting, you are far less likely to see women drinking than men.

In more well-to-do areas, the drops of choice are beer (Tusker) and vodka. Again, consumers often drink to get drunk, but they tend to keep to more regular hours of drink: it’s reserved for after work and the weekend. Among the young expat community, the cost of living is low and wages are comparatively high. As a result, many an entrepreneur can be seen at the local watering holes of Nairobi, drinking their large earnings away.

Alcohol isn’t the only drug here; there’s also miraa (khat) - a plant which is chewed for its properties as a stimulant, and something which is subject to abuse in its own right.

Not Drinking in Kenya

The religious beliefs of most of the nation mean that alcohol is looked down on, so non-drinkers certainly aren’t viewed with distaste. Also, the large missionary presence in Kenya, means that locals don’t expect all foreigners to drink.

Get out there, tear up the dance floor, and take comfort in some of the more questionable dance styles around you

Economic factors also play a part: many living in Kenya don’t have a large disposable income, so most nights out you can see numerous tables of Kenyans sipping, or even sharing, bottles of soda, which sell for roughly half the price of alcoholic drinks.

Find yourself seated next to a committed drinker, however, and they will lay the pressure down hard, especially after they’ve had a few beers. But don’t stress too much about refusing: the chances are that their memory will be pretty foggy by morning.

Alternative activities

Meat is a big deal in Kenya, and eating nyama choma (barbecued goat) is more an event in itself than a meal. While some at the table will opt for a beer or wine, the focus here is definitely on the food. Football is another passion, so if there’s a game on (English Premier League and Champions League being favourites), get yourself to anywhere that has a screen, and settle in with the energetic crowd.

Nyama Choma (photo: Reece McMillan)

Not drinking doesn’t mean you can’t go clubbing, and the more ‘local’ the establishment (i.e. the less upmarket), the more sober revellers you will find. You will always find loud music, and Africans love to dance, which becomes more and more evident as the night darkens. Get out there, tear up the dance floor, and take comfort in some of the more questionable dance styles around you. If you don’t feel like dancing, Kenyans are friendly people, so join a table and start a conversation with the locals, or just try your hand against the pool sharks.

You might want to avoid any late night strolls, however – given the lawlessness of some individuals, the streets of Kenya, especially larger areas like Nairobi and Mombasa, aren’t the safest. In fact, most markets will close at sundown, and after the restaurants quieten down, the only ‘safe’ excitement is found in the bars.

Alternative drinks

Chai, a milky tea containing significantly more sugar than tea leaves, is the day’s starter, though may be drunk throughout the day, too. Soda, meanwhile, is bigger than water, and is both cheap and unavoidable. Bars will always be stocked with water, soda, and some bottled juices.

Non-alcoholic beer is virtually unheard of, but ginger beer can be found from time to time. Your best chances for both of these these are in the larger supermarkets in larger cities. ‘Fancy’ drinks, alcoholic or not, are hard to find away from the coast, and tend to come at a premium.

No eyebrows will be raised by your choice of drink, unless it’s something ‘fancy’, but even then, this is more likely to be out of curiosity as to what the concoction actually is, rather than any alcohol-related judgement. But whatever you’re drinking, bear in mind that constant electricity is hard to come by and refrigeration can’t be guaranteed. So be prepared to receive a bottle at room-temperature rather than the refreshing baridi (cold) drink you were hoping for.

Conclusion

There’s plenty going on in Kenya for the non-drinker: the people here love their soda, soccer and booty-shaking. Just don’t forget to bring your sweet tooth.

Reece McMillan is a nomad who has settled in Nairobi, and has spent the last few months exploring the social behaviours of locals and expats alike. He definitely enjoys an ice cold beer, but doesn’t require it. Well Worn Soles is the speaker box for his experiences from the road.

Someone pretending to be hungover (image: perfectoinsecto)

Today is Ash Wednesday, so a lot of people – perhaps waking up hungover after a heavy night of chasing pancakes with a suitable dessert wine – will be thinking about giving up alcohol for Lent. As a Dry January veteran I recently experienced the highs and lows of trying out a temporary alcohol-free social life, and it became clear that, unless your friends and family are all joining you, you need a strategy. Allow me to share some tips…

The Risotto Exception. Are you going completely alcohol-free or just giving up drinking? If it’s the former you’re going to need to warn anyone who might be planning on cooking for you, to prevent either a) causing offence by refusing their delicious penne vodka or b) eating boozy food to be polite, and then finding yourself thinking “well, there’s sherry in the mushroom paté, so I’ve already broken the rules for today…might as well have a glass of wine now and start afresh tomorrow.”

That brings us on to The Excuse Anticipation. When I started Dry January I wrote for this blog that I could already imagine which events in the month were going to be ‘triggers’, but actually you need to be more specific than that. Make a list of all the excuses you might find yourself – or anyone else – making, and make it very clear to yourself that none of them are good enough. “Yes, but I’ve had a hard day”, “Yes, but I’ve been ill”, “Yes, but it’s my birthday”, “Yes, but my sister is here unexpectedly and we want a proper night out” – anticipate them all, and then when they happen you can just put the kettle on.

The Party Proposition. Are you still planning to keep up your usual social life while staying alcohol-free, or are you prepared to turn down offers of the pub and spend more quality time with your pets, your to-do list, your great unwritten novel? I’d recommend the latter – it makes for a productive month, you’ll save money, and you’re less likely to find yourself staring resentfully at your friends over a pint of tap-water – but you might still get dragged out for a special occasion, in which case you’ll need to do…

Waking up knowing you’re not hungover is great, and having a clear head every night is strangely addictive in its own way

The Beverage Reconnoitre. Find out good alcohol-free venues near you – if you live somewhere with an excellent choice of watering holes, like my own Manchester, this will be easier. I tried to get into the habit of inviting people to meet me in my favourite frozen yoghurt shop, rather than a bar, but that’s not everyone’s cup of tea – or pint of lager – so I also became familiar with the soft drinks lists of Manchester’s drinkeries.

As I noted in a previous post, ginger beer was my salvation on many nights, and a lot of pubs and bars serve tea and coffee – but my favourite, crowd-pleasing hangout was Home Sweet Home in the Northern Quarter. It advertises itself as a ‘gourmet bakehouse and coffee bar’, so while it stays open late to provide wine and beer to those who drink it (including the hipster staple of Red Stripe), the most delicious thing on its drinks menu is the Ultimate Hot Chocolate, a veritable vat of creamy deliciousness that comes with cookie and brownie bits and takes both hands to lift. They’re not paying me to say this: it really makes wine drinkers feel like they’re missing out.

If you’re also from Manchester, you might have noticed V-Revolution, a new arrival on the Ancoats end of Oldham Street – if you’re not a vegan or a fan of vinyl you might understandably have walked straight past it, but it’s worth noting that they also sell bottles of non-alcoholic beer, which can help you stay dry without feeling unsociable (as I did when drinking tea while all about me were glugging Budweiser in my living-room).

Home Sweet Home

Wherever and however you go alcohol-free, enjoy it: waking up knowing you’re not hungover is great, and having a clear head every night is strangely addictive in its own way. Your house will be tidier, your wallet will be heavier, your skin will be better (pints of tap-water and a month of early nights will do that).

I can’t pretend to have stuck at it into February – in fact, I can’t claim to have managed the whole month, I’m afraid. I made it as far as the 27th and then cheated, due to a combination of some of the excuses listed above: after a few miserable days of being ill, my sister paid an unexpected visit, we went to a bar, she asked if I wanted a beer, she was paying…I cracked and had one. And then another one. And then…that was it. Just two. The bottles (American lager) tasted OK, but not as delicious as I remembered.

“Want another?” asked my sister.

“Hmm…”

We went to Home Sweet Home and had a hot chocolate instead.

Grace is 26 and lives in Fallowfield, Manchester, with too many cats. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/msgracefh

There are Alkos everwhere in Finland. Yeah, I know - sorry. (image: Earth-Bound Misfit, I)

In Finland, we mostly drink to get drunk, and drinking is not necessarily a social event. There’s even an informal expression for drinking at home alone (or with a friend): kalsarikännit, or ‘getting drunk wearing only long underwear’.

Finns like to drink along with every feeling and occasion: celebration and mourning; beginnings and endings; periods of stress and periods of relaxation. Alcohol is certainly the main focus in every party in Finland – it’s as if we´re unable to have fun without it. Friday nights actually look similar to those in England, only less busy.

Normal policy on a night-out is pretty much the same as in England. Everyone brings their own drinks to pre-parties and it’s not very common to share. This is because drinking is like a performance, the object of which is to get drunk, and sharing might mess up your master plan. Of course, if somebody has brought some new liqueur from the ferry, they might offer you a sample – Finns love going on alcohol runs to Sweden or Estonia. But when buying alcohol, the main criterion is usually “will I get drunk with this?”

Drinking is like a performance, the object of which is to get drunk, and sharing might mess up your master plan.

The only place you can buy spirits, liquor and wine in Finland is the state-owned monopoly store ‘Alko’, whilst beer and cider can be bought in supermarkets but only until 9pm. Why us Finns are so fond of booze, I’m not sure. Perhaps because we’re a nation of shy people and being intoxicated makes it easier to socialise. Others theorise that it’s to help cope with the long, dark cold winters. Whatever the reason, it’s also implicated in a lot of problems, such as accidents, premature deaths and domestic violence.

Not drinking in Finland

People in Finland are becoming more health-conscious, so not drinking at a party won’t raise too many eyebrows. People will almost certainly ask why you aren’t drinking, but you won’t be forced to partake. If you are a foreigner in Finland you are fundamentally interesting and just this on its own means you can get away with not drinking. Not that you won’t miss out in some way – a sure-fire way of making yourself popular with Finns is to try one of our national peculiarities, such as salty liquorice liquor.

Drinking in Helsinki (image: wili_hybrid)

When us Finns are drunk we can get very affectionate because we normally don’t express our positive feelings. This means you might even suddenly be the best friend of somebody you just met in the toilets. At this point it can be slightly offensive not to accept a shot as a token of friendship. Still, it’s very easy for a non-drinker to blend into the happy crowd, just as long as you don’t knock over somebody’s pint: Finns are also eager to fight.

When it comes to drinking and driving, Finns are quite responsible, and don’t tend to have even a sip. This means that one of the main risks of going alcohol-free is that you might be expected to drive. Another is that, since everyone gets so totally wasted, you might feel like you’re obliged to take care of their bags and generally look out for them.

Alternative activities

Due to the climate, Finland is a country where people spend a lot of time at home. Café and restaurant culture isn’t on the same level as in continental Europe, though it is improving. Cafés don’t stay open late and it’s more common to meet friends in bars. During the week, pubs and bars are increasingly offering activities such as pool, board games or pub quizzes, in an effort to make customers stay, and on these occasions, it’s totally fine to order a coffee or tea.

A popular way to spend time in a cold country like Finland is the sauna. Friends and communities commonly organize sauna evenings and this can be a great way to bond with people. Even in the sauna, some people still like to pop open a chilled beer or cider, though you can just as easily bring a bottle of soda – an especially good idea given that alcohol and saunas may be a dangerous combination.

Alternative drinks

In the shops you can find several non-alcoholic beers, ciders and wines, and in bars you can usually get plain soda or fruit juice. Non-alcoholic beers tend to be imported, although there is at least one domestic variety: Ukko-Pekka (0.0%).

Conclusion

Finland may be known for heavy drinking but it’s not expected from foreigners. As long as you can stand the excesses of others, you should get on just fine.

Katja is a well-travelled Finn who doesn’t mind a nightcap but prefers to leave the hangovers to others. She blogs about the slow life at The Little Red Book.

Common (Image: Sebastian Matthes)

On Day 2 of Dry January, a group of us descended on one of my favourite bars in Manchester’s Northern Quarter – Common on Edge Street – for a friend’s twentieth birthday. I bought a pint for my friend Chris and asked for a glass of tap-water for myself. I was revelling in the thought of the money I had just saved when another friend joined us with a bottle of something new – “Espresso stout!” he said excitedly. “I’ve not tried it before.” Espresso. Stout. Two of my very favourite things, together in one tempting bottle.

“Urgh, coffee-flavoured beer?” said Chris. I slouched over my water, trying to pretend that coffee-flavoured beer wasn’t the sum of all my hopes and dreams.

This has been a big challenge every time I’ve tried to cut out alcohol – since my friends are still going to be hanging out in bars, and I want to hang out with them, what do I drink while I’m there? J2O is a horrible substance, and ordinary fruit juice comes in overpriced, tiny measures. Asking for lemonade makes me feel like a child (especially since I often have to stand on tiptoes to see over the bar). Coke is marginally better but I can feel it rotting my insides.

I was pleased to discover that another favourite bar, the appropriately named Dry Bar on Oldham Street, serves coffee until late, but as I explain below, caffeine presents its own problems. I like fizzy water, but resent how much I’m being charged for what is essentially a glass of water and air. That tends to leave tap water, which is tasty and healthy and free, but somehow feels a bit rude to everyone else I’m with: “Not only am I not prepared to let my hair down by joining you in a ‘proper’ drink, I don’t even want to invest the price of a soft beverage in this evening”.

My evening at Common started looking up when a friend spotted non-alcoholic ginger beer on the soft drinks menu. I love ginger beer. I also love ginger biscuits, gingerbread and everything on Earth that involves ginger, with the exception of Danny Alexander. Now I know that ginger beer is an option, I’ll be ordering it next time I go back to Common – even if that’s after Dry January is over.

Asking for lemonade makes me feel like a child (especially since I often have to stand on tiptoes to see over the bar)

That week passed in smug fashion, as I got home every night sober and early enough to do things like take my make-up off properly and pack lunches for the next day. On Friday, to celebrate a visit from my sister, Chris suggested a big night out. I suggested, instead, that the gang come over to my house for tea. The gang – and my sister – promptly rocked up with a box of beer each, and worked through them while I made four pizzas from scratch. I might have felt more left out if I hadn’t found a bottle of ’0% Bavaria’ non-alcoholic beer someone had left in my fridge – it turned out to taste more or less the same as the real thing, and I ended up wishing I’d stocked up on more. Unless you enjoy feeling like the den mother – which I don’t – it’s hard to get in the party spirit when everyone else is glugging from frosty glass bottles and you’re clutching a mug of tea.

Grace (Image: DC Sterne)

The third and most recent occasion I’ve been tempted to leap off the Dry January wagon was last Tuesday when, in accordance with age-old tradition, I went to the City Arms after a meeting in Manchester Town Hall. The main reasons I wanted a drink were because: 1. the meeting I’d just left had lasted over two hours; 2. Chris had got bored of Dry January Grace and had thus taken to drinking pints of real ale in front of me with exclamations of “It’s like there’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s invited!”; and 3. after five cups of black coffee at work, two more cups of black coffee in the Town Hall, and two Cokes in the City Arms, I was so saturated with caffeine that I was emitting a faint buzzing sound. It wasn’t as much fun as it sounds – especially that night when I tried to sleep.

The following night I walked halfway to the City Arms with Chris before deciding against it, turning on my heel and heading home. Unsociable?

Yes. But hey, at least I got an early night.

Grace is 26 and lives in Fallowfield, Manchester, with too many cats. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/msgracefh

IKEA's Glögg Alkoholfri (Image: Neil Bennion)

So that’s us all limping collectively into 2012 bearing our collective hangovers, if not of the alcoholic kind then the financial. My own Christmas and New Year involved me practising a whole lot of what I’ve been so preachy about – alcohol-free festive drinking.

Christmas morning started the same as my relatives around me: with bacon sarnies and Buck’s Fizz, the only difference being that mine had sparkling grape juice in lieu of some slightly more potent.

In the future we’ll all be cyborgs with specially adapted stomachs, capable of compacting food sufficiently to fit in an entire Christmas meal. But for this one, I had to make do with just eating continuously until I felt uncomfortable, and then carrying on for a while more anyway.

My sidekick on ‘project gluttony’ was a rather tasty alcohol-free wine from Sainsbury’s, which did a good job of filling in what miniscule cracks might have been left. Though lacking the robustness of a port, it complemented the cheese rather well, and felt like it was staining my mouth too, which somehow seemed important at the time.

Come the lazy, fat belly-stroking afternoon, I was being kept company by loved ones. By this I mean both my family, and cans of Bavaria’s far too-drinkable alcohol-free beer.

Mmmmm cake (Image: Janis Callister)

By Boxing day, and that curious cluster of days before New Year, my stomach  had finally managed to regain enough real estate to accept some of the wonderful Christmas cake that my sister made, which turned out really great.

As a household, we also collectively had a go at IKEA’s Alcohol-free mulled wine, aka Glögg Alkoholfri. It was hot, sweet and spicy, which means it was as it should be, really, given that that’s pretty much the definition of mulled wine. The lack of tanins – it being based on fruit juice rather than de-alcoholised wine – meant that my brother-in-law enjoyed it too, despite his being a drinker. Enough of a drinker, in fact, to try and alcoholise Horlicks.

“Is there any room for a guest entry on your blog where I just take perfectly acceptable non-alcoholic drinks and add amaretto?” he asked.

Finally came New Year’s Eve, and time to celebrate another year of pretending I don’t feel superior to drinkers. And it’s true – I don’t (good at it, aren’t I?). A friend  mine was holding a fancy dress party around the theme of heroes and villains, and some might argue that I was both: I came as  the Simpsons character Duffman, effectively a Duff Beer version of the Malboro Man.

Well, actually it was Duff Zero Man, based on the alcohol-free Duff beer that came out during prohibition in Springfield, and arguably reversing the groups I was a hero and villain to. It was an outfit that took far more work to make than I’d thought it would. I even had to enlist parental help when I realised that, left to my own sewing skills, I was just going to look like I’d been assaulted by an angry pile of blue and red fabric. Dogsound’s design for a Duff can label came in handy, too, after some minor alterations to de-alcoholise it to Duff Zero.

Despite all that work, one person (a child, admittedly), still seemed disappointed by the fact I wasn’t yellow. I’m going to presume she meant that as a Simpsons reference, rather than cirrhosis of the liver.

Duff Zero Man brings home the plastic

To my complete surprise, I actually won the fancy dress contest. Rather than give a speech (which would only have consisted of the words ‘Awww Yeah’ anyway), I was asked to do my performing seal bit and dance for those gathered. There was a time when I’d have needed a few drinks to even consider doing something like that. But these days (following my dance mission to Colombia in 2010) I recognise that dignity on the dance floor is a luxury, not a right.

Besides, I defy anyone to tell me a better way to see in 2012 than dressing up as a cartoon character and dancing with Batgirl to Bohemian Rhapsody.

Happy New Year!

Grace (Image: DC Sterne)

I’d say my drinking habits are about average for someone from my age and background. In other words: inconsistent.

I don’t really drink at home – I’m much more likely to be found with a cup of tea than a beer or a glass of wine – and my family don’t make a habit of getting the booze out for special occasions, so Christmas, for example, wasn’t a particularly drunken event.

Weekends and special (and not-so-special) occasions with my friends are a different story. Friday nights at O’Sheas in Manchester means a good few pints of Guinness. Saturday nights dancing on Canal Street mean shots, lager and more shots. Even a couple of hours playing pool on a weekday evening usually means taking advantage of a special offer on a carafe of wine.

I’m five foot one, not especially heavy, and I’m usually drinking with men – which means trying to keep up with drinkers who are bigger and more practised than me. And I’d be the first to admit that I don’t always handle it very well. What’s more, as I get older, the hangovers are starting to take up more and more of my time.

I know that, like a lot of women my age, I probably go over my recommended number of units of alcohol on one or two nights a week. And I know, too, that no matter how many nights in you have with a cuppa, you’re not allowed to ‘save up’ your units and carry them over. After a pretty heavy night just before Christmas, I woke up with one clear thought in my fuzzy head: I’m twenty-six now. It’s time to think about the drink.

I’ve tried ‘dry spells’ before, with varied success – I’ve done ‘detox January’ a couple of years running, did a similiar ‘sober October’ this year to recover from a party-heavy September, and once gave up drinking for Lent. I found both up- and downsides: the feeling of waking up and knowing, before I even open my eyes, that I definitely don’t have a hangover, was quite a winner. Being the only person sipping tap-water while everyone else is necking cold bottles of beer or iridescent cocktails brought a novel feeling of virtuousness – at first. But before long I was feeling more resentful than smug. And every time I’ve tried it, I’ve been queuing up at the bar a good few days before the scheduled end date.

I woke up with one clear thought in my fuzzy head: I’m twenty-six now. It’s time to think about the drink.

So this year I’ve got a good idea what to look out for when it comes to triggers and temptations. Do I really need to go to the pub after meetings? I have a Muslim friends in politics (some of whom have been trying to persuade me to cut back the drink for a while), so it must be possible to be a dry politician (well, some people might say all politicians are dry, but I think that means something else…)

Probably the biggest test is going to be around the 20th – my friend Lou’s birthday. Lou is 1. one of my best friends; 2. a vodka connoisseur; 3. pretty knowledgeable about white wine; 4. the person who provided over a hundred vodka jelly shots for my housewarming party back in September; and 5. (this may go without saying) not a fan of this whole Dry January project. I don’t want to turn down any invitations from Lou, and I certainly don’t want to be a spoilsport on her birthday. Can I stay dry and stay sociable too? I hope so. Am I going to have to sit near a pot-plant to dispose of wine without causing offence? Maybe.

I’m not convinced I’ll keep up the alcohol-free lifestyle after January 31st, or even that I’ll get through the month without a moment of weakness – but I’m going to enjoy the opportunity to give my body a break, and to observe the changes I have to make. After all – how hard can it be?

Grace is 26 and lives in Fallowfield, Manchester, with too many cats. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/msgracefh

New Year is just a blur for some (image: scottchan)

Christmas comes with all sorts of traditional drinks, most of them alcoholic. Some people think if you’re not drinking alcohol, you might as well walk inside a cupboard and turn off the lights. But, whilst this can be fun in the right company, there are alternatives.

It’s still important to feel like you’re part of what’s going on, and the tastes and scents of the drinks are a major part of that, so here is a glut traditional Christmas drinks, and some ideas for what to have instead.

Mulled Wine

Mulling in the wine sense means combining with spices, typically things like cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, often also heating it. The exact preparation varies from country to country, though it’s present in some form throughout most of Europe.

Alcohol-free mulled wine is a bit of a gift for non-drinkers, because the complexity of flavour from the spices allied with the warmth mean that it’s got a lot going for it, with or without alcohol. There are three main options for preparing your own alcohol-free mulled wine:

- Make your own in a pan, like in this Delia Smith recipe.

- Add pre-prepared mulling spices, which often come in syrup format to your red grape juice or non-alcoholic wine. Maybe best not to pick a sparkling , as that might be a bit weird.

- Buy it ready made, as with IKEA’s ready-made Swedish Glögg Alkoholfri or Rochester Mulled Berry Punch.

But if that’s all still too much effort, and you’re not prepared to operate anything beyond a kettle, buy some Mulled Wine Tea.

Buck’s Fizz

Christmas morning is about Buck’s Fizz. Well okay, it isn’t – it’s about people trying to read the expressions of each other as they open their respective presents, like some weird game of poker. In fact it’s a shame there isn’t a second phase in which everyone gambles their presents. Though what you’d do with a doll that cries real tears and a bottle of flavoured vodka I’m not quite sure. Pair them off, perhaps.

Anyway, back to the drink: Buck’s Fizz is traditionally made up of two-parts orange juice with one-part Champagne. Alcohol-free Buck’s Fizz is made by simply substituting sparkling white grape juice for the Champagne. With there being no alcohol around, the flavour and texture becomes more intrinsic to the ‘specialness’ of the drink. So get one with juicy bits so the bubbles chase the pith about like an orange snow globe.

Port

Port is a Christmas staple, in the UK at least, and is often drunk with cheese during the fill-any-remaining-gaps-in-your-stomach ceremony. But this Portuguese fortified wine poses a problem for non-drinkers, since an alcohol-free port is a difficult thing to find (unless you live near Holyhead).

Whilst you’ll struggle to match the depth of flavour of port, a good red grape juice or non-alcoholic red wine will at least give you something to complement your favourite milk-based foodstuffs.

Whisky

You might think that spirits are irreplaceable, but there are actually alcohol-free whiskies out there. There’s the Spanish drink Whissin and Black Zero for a start, although the Scotch Whisky Association is less than enamoured with the idea.

The problem is that it’s probably not a good choice for vulnerable former-drinkers, certainly if it’s any good at its job. In fact, forget clever titles like Whissin (sin is Spanish for without) it should just have ‘RELAPSE’ in big letters on the bottle. Furthermore, there can be better routes than trying to directly copy something whose flavour fundamentally relies on the presence of alcohol.

So, if you’re looking for something non-alcoholic but with a short sharp bite of flavour, a better bet might be something with the zing of ginger, like Great Uncle Cornelius’ Finest Spiced Ginger or Rochester Ginger.

Champagne

It’s New Year’s Eve and people right across the world are lining up for the competition of who can break their unrealistic resolutions the fastest. But what to drink instead of Champagne?

Our recommendation is for a sparkling white grape juice, made from the Muscat grape, with ASDA Extra Special Sparkling White Muscat Juice a particular favourite with this writer.

Get a good one, and the wonderful Muscat aroma means you won’t miss the alcohol. Plus many manufacturers produce them in that mixture of skin-lacerating foil and lightbulb-shattering cork that we associate with celebratory drinks.

And remember that just because your drink is alcohol-free doesn’t mean it should be served in some cast-off glass – drink it from a flute. I mean the glass. Actually, what the hell – drink it from an actual flute. I mean, it’s only once a year, isn’t it?

Living in the present (image: stock.xchng)

Wondering what to get that non-drinker for Christmas now that a bottle of scotch is out the question? Here are five ideas to get you thinking.

Spa treatment

For many people, alcohol is a pleasure; an indulgence. Spa treatments provide something similar, except without the bruises. Well, fewer bruises. Well, okay it depends on your masseur. Anyway, it gives people something they sometimes forget to give themselves: permission to relax, forget the worries of the day and generally get prodded with sponges. And if you buy someone a voucher, they can choose their specific treatment or treatments that suit them best.

Cheaper: Something spa-like for the home, like bath bombs
Cheapest: Squeeze their shoulders for four seconds and say “there you go”

Coffee

Alcohol is a very social drink (well, when it’s not busy being a very anti-social drink) but it doesn’t have the monopoly on that. Coffee is a great excuse for people to get together and develop fixed stares in a relaxing environment. It’s also one of the few non-alcoholic beverages that has a connoisseur element. If someone loves coffee, giving them something like an espresso machine is giving them an excuse to invite people round.

Cheaper: A stove-top espresso maker and/or some good quality ground coffee
Cheapest: A sachet of Nescafe and a plastic spoon.

Chocolate

When people give up drinking, they often end up swapping one vice for another, but at least chocolate doesn’t have links with violence. Well, unless you’re depriving someone of it. There’s a whole world of chocolate to discover, and some are truly works of art, like Maribelle’s amazing (and amazingly expensive) chocolate handbag collection. The truly decadent could even buy two tickets to Bruges to go from one chocolatier to the next.

Cheaper: Buy some retro sweets and be transported back to a time when you weren’t concerned with things like alcohol. Or tooth decay.
Cheapest: Give them a bite of your Mars bar.

Alcohol-free drinks

The selection of drinks at bars for non-drinkers can be fairly dismal, especially when it comes to beers. But if you get someone a selection box of alcohol-free beer such as those sold by the UK’s Alcohol Free shop allows someone to try ones from all over the world. NB alcohol-free beer may cause relapse amongst some alcoholics, whilst others still consider it a relapse in itself.

Cheaper: Many supermarkets do sparkling alcohol-free wine in champagne-like presentations.
Cheapest: Serve them up a glass of tap water, with a straw as a flourish

New clothes

Given the calorific nature of alcoholic drinks, if someone has given up drinking fairly recently, there’s a good chance they’ll be losing weight. Unless some idiot’s bought them loads of chocolate of course. Reward them with clothes that fit their new-found frame.

Cheaper: A gift voucher for their favourite retailer to go towards new clothes
Cheapest: A piece of string makes an excellent adjustable belt.

The office christmas bash is important. It can be the one time of year when everyone in the office finally gets to let their hair down and forget about TPS report cover sheets. Bonding, (of all varieties) can occur that just wouldn’t happen in the workplace in normal circumstances.

But they’re volatile situations. You’re surrounded by friends and enemies; potential lovers and potential haters; people who can get you promoted and people who can get you fired. What better to do in this situation than to lose any semblance of self-control?

Of course, it’s also often the time when the secret Santa presents are handed out. Is that one for me? Oh look, it’s the alcohol-driven truth of what you think about me! You shouldn’t have. No, really.

Going alcohol-free

So, as well as all the good reasons for not drinking in general, the office party is certainly a good place to consider being sober, regardless of whether you normally drink. However, there are definitely some things to think about if you do.

Firstly, it’s a good idea to think about your answer to ‘the question’. Because at some point in the evening, someone is sure to ask you “why aren’t you drinking?” It helps to know in advance how much you’re comfortable telling them.

Plus, of course, people can feel uncomfortable hearing too much personal information about a co-worker. And remember, it’s meant to be a fun, light-hearted evening – not everyone necessarily wants to be taught the Serenity Prayer or be led through the minutiae of intra-hepatic surgery.

Secondly, if it’s important to you to have something interesting to drink then mention it to the organisers in advance. If you’re going to a pub then they might not have much choice, but if it’s an in-office bash then they’ll need to know to buy something other than crates of lager and Pinot grigio.

Thirdly if the posters and emails are describing it as the ‘Annual Xmas Drinkfest’ then you might want to consider whether you really want to be there at all. By all means challenge that culture if it’s important to you, but there are definitely some workplaces where you could find yourself as King Canute facing an incoming tide of alcohol.

Finally, do remember to enjoy yourself – that’s the general idea, after all. If you’re having a good time, few people will care whether you’re drinking or not, yourself included. And when it feels like it’s getting too lairy, then leave. Simple. The great thing about not drinking is that you do actually know when the night is over.

The aftermath

The great news comes when you’re back at work, where you won’t get drip-fed information about things you may or may not have done. Although, on the downside, you won’t get to be part of the stories that last all the way until the next one, possibly even becoming enshrined in company legend.

Though even if you’re not drinking, you might still end up part of a rumour. As has been pointed out to me, “If you’re a woman and you go to the office party and you don’t drink, everyone thinks you’re pregnant.”

Do go easy on the after-party gloating – you won’t endear yourself to anyone. Besides, you now have a library of indelible images to draw to mind any time a colleague is being insufferable. There are some things that can’t be unseen.

So here’s to a Christmas party that doesn’t end with your goose being cooked. Or even marinated, for that matter.