A Sober Alcoholic

31/03/2026

Bit of a singsong with 1400 other alcoholics at the weekend. Not a single hangover the next day.

26/03/2026

Great start to any day.

19/03/2026

8.15am. The joys of sobriety were forgotten for far too long. Not any more. I haven’t fished for 20 years. Caught nothing but felt much serenity.

15/03/2026

Seven years of continuous sobriety today. Go me.

11/03/2026

Anyone else have a track that drops you to your knees sobbing?

10/03/2026

Costs of Being an Alcoholic

No jargon. No excuses. Just the truth.

The private rehab industry is worth approximately £11 billion. That alone tells you something about the scale of the problem.

How much does being an alcoholic cost?

On average, if a heavy drinker lives until they’re 60 it’s estimated they’ll spend somewhere between £70,000 and £120,000 on alcohol throughout their lives.

That’s just on the substance itself.

But we know, don’t we, that there are many added costs. Fines. Damage repairs. Insurance increases. Debts from borrowing, gambling and sniffing. It soon racks up.

The personal, physical, psychological and social costs have no price on them.

Those costs are yours alone.

So let’s do a cost and benefit analysis of being an alcoholic in the simplest terms possible.

No bu****it. No jargon.

You can join in if you wish.

From experience I do know that one of the social costs involved is self-driven isolation and a lack of engagement with the world outside.

The following example is aimed toward the end of an alcoholic’s life. For some, sooner rather than later.

It’s very common to have a can’t be arsed attitude.

Keep the curtains closed. I’ll go out if and when I have to.

Bare cupboards and an almost empty fridge most of the time. The dog’s probably fed (costs a fortune that dog). There’s a drop of milk in the carton and a pot noodle on the window sill. The sink’s full as usual.

The telly’s on.

Cash in the Attic.

The clatter of the letter box — more junk mail lands on the existing pile.

Quick peek through the kitchen window. Next door’s having another delivery from the white van man.

Have a can or clean my teeth?

Can it is.

Teeth can wait another day. Nobody’s going to see them anyway.

Where’s the Gaviscon or the Rennie?

Reaches down the side of the settee and picks up a can.

Glug. Glug. Glug.

Ahhh, that’s better.

Might have a piece of toast.

Bread’s only three days old. It’s fine.

Digs a knife out from under the plates and cups filling the sink. Slides it between fingers and thumb. That’ll do.

Marge is nearly out. Scrapes the sides and grooves.

Toast is done. Takes the grill out and places it on top of the grease covered cooker with only two working rings.

Throws the knife back in the sink.

Another swig.

Sits back down in the same place as always.

Your shape has formed there and it’s sunken down over the years.

Your comfy place.

Overflowing ashtray on the little teak-effect coffee table — the only one of a set of three left.

Dozens of self-made roll-up cigarette butts piled high. Never know — might need them in the early hours if I run out of baccy.

A crushed empty can next to it.

Cigarette papers and a pouch of to***co next to the half empty — always half empty — can.

Australian Opal Hunters is on the telly.

Throws the left-over toast crust to the dog.

Snap.

Never misses because it’s always hungry.

Might get taken to the off-licence later.

Usually does.

Sniffing and pi***ng all the way.

Fall asleep for a few hours.

Open eyes.

Reach for the can.

Glug.

Empty.

One left.

Need to go to the offy in a bit.

Gets up and walks down the dark hall to the toilet.

So used to it you don’t smell the ammonia, the stale towels on the bath side or the stinking underwear behind the door.

The toilet is brown.

You blame the cold tea you poured down it last week.

Empty cardboard toilet rolls everywhere.

One half-ruined toothbrush with an empty squashed toothpaste tube lying in a small puddle of dirty water on top of the sink.

Pulls up the tracksuit bottoms and makes the way back.

Oops.

Forgot to flush.

Nobody comes anyway.

I’ll flush it later.

Coat on.

Dog getting excited.

Check the bank card’s in the pocket.

Light a roll-up stump and step outside.

Soon be back.

Back in the comfy place.

Repeat this for many years.

Suffer alone.

Nobody cares anyway.

Haven’t seen family for years.

Saving Lives at Sea is on the telly and the sink is still full.

This is just a fraction of the social price I pay.

Many of you won’t have a clue what it takes to get to that place.

Some might.

I personally know dozens of people who’ve ended up there.

It’s horrific to witness.

And then contemplate the fact that I have the same disease that put them there.

It’s in my body and my mind.

Double trouble.

08/03/2026

Dear all
This page has a new direction ahead. Please feel free to unfollow.

Similar to the thousands of other A.A. unofficial pages, this page attempted to attract the still suffering alcoholic toward recovery.

To some extent it’s been very successful and gratitude is offered to all who engaged.

However, from here on I’ve decided to travel on a more independent route. AA pages with much larger numbers are out there for those wishing to take up their offerings.

Spring is in the air. New beginnings lie ahead.

Peace
D

04/03/2026

Sober sunsets are the best.

25/12/2025

If you’re an alcoholic who made it through Christmas Day without picking up a drink, I want to say well done… and thank you.

You did that in a world that tells you alcohol is the answer — to celebration, to loneliness, to stress, to pain. You were surrounded by it, invited to it, expected to join in. And yet you didn’t.

That isn’t just willpower. That’s surrender. That’s humility. That’s trusting a Higher Power to carry you when your own strength wasn’t enough.

Days like today can be heavy — memories, habits, emotions all resurfacing at once. And still, you paused. You asked for help. You didn’t do it alone.

Whether you call it God, a Higher Power, or simply something bigger than yourself — you leaned into it today. And it held you.

If nobody thanked you for that choice, let me do it now. I see you. I respect what it took.

You stayed sober. You stayed honest. You stayed connected.

You chose life over escape, faith over fear, and progress over the old ways.

And for that — from the bottom of my heart — thank you.
Peace
D

25/11/2025

As sure as the tide ebbs and flows we approach the season of supposed “goodwill and merriment”. A jolly time.
Not for everyone.

🎄 As we approach Christmas, let’s pause — not just for celebration, but for remembrance.
This time of year is especially hard for many of us living with the impact of alcohol. Some are in recovery, some are struggling, some are supporting loved ones… and some aren’t here anymore. In our community, we’ve lost too many — to su***de, to alcohol-related illness, to the slow damage that never made the headlines. Let’s not forget those who didn’t make it to this Christmas. God bless them all. 💔

Across Wales last year, over 560 people died from alcohol-specific causes. But there is a way out: today, 1 in 5 adults in the UK don’t drink at all, and research shows almost half of people in recovery achieve long-term abstinence. Change is possible. Lives can be rebuilt. Hope is real.

🎁 This season, let’s hold space for those we’ve lost — and support those still fighting. If you’re struggling, you’re not alone. There is a path forward.

09/11/2025

Let’s get something straight — if you beat addiction, you beat the odds. Period. Don’t ever downplay that. Don’t ever minimize it. Because most people don’t make it out. And that’s not me trying to be dramatic — that’s reality. Addiction doesn’t play fair. It’s not just a bad habit or a poor choice. It’s a war — one that destroys millions silently, slowly, one decision at a time.

If you’ve clawed your way out of that darkness, if you’ve made it through nights that should’ve buried you, if you’ve stared death, prison, or despair straight in the eye and said, “Not today” — you’ve already done something damn near impossible. You defied statistics. You broke generational curses. You rewired a brain that was hell-bent on self-destruction. You fought a fight most people never see and came out breathing. That makes you a miracle walking in plain clothes.

Addiction doesn’t just destroy lives — it eats everything that touches it. It burns down families, friendships, trust, opportunity, self-worth. It makes you believe you’re unfixable. It convinces you that you can’t get clean, can’t stay clean, can’t stay clean, can’t live without it. It’s a liar that sounds like your own voice. And yet, somehow, you stood up against that. You said, “I’m done.” You started over when the odds were stacked completely against you. That’s not weakness. That’s warrior work.

Most people don’t understand that recovery isn’t a single victory — it’s a daily decision. It’s waking up and choosing life every morning, even when the cravings whisper and the memories sting. It’s doing the hard, boring, painful work of rebuilding your mind, your relationships, your future — brick by brick, day by day. It’s choosing presence over escape. Discipline over chaos. Growth over guilt.

And yeah, you’ll still have days that feel heavy. But that doesn’t mean you’re losing — it means you’re human. Because recovery isn’t about perfection. It’s about persistence. It’s about staying in the fight even when nobody’s clapping, even when nobody sees how hard it really is.

If you’re clean, if you’re sober, if you’re still here — don’t you dare minimize that. You’ve already beaten something that destroys most of the people it touches. You’ve done what most never get to do — you came back to yourself. You reclaimed your life.

You beat the odds. You’re proof that miracles aren’t random — they’re earned through grit, grace, and a whole lot of stubborn faith.

So the next time someone tries to make you feel small for where you’ve been, remind them — you didn’t just survive addiction. You defeated a monster most people never escape. You’re not weak for struggling. You’re strong for still standing.

If you beat addiction, you beat the odds. Period. Never forget it.

Make that call

11/08/2025

Alcohol doesn’t care about your job your status you’re worth. It has no boundaries. Hope his family are supporting him.

Make the move.

Inspector Andrew Griffiths was convicted of drink driving at a magistrates court hearing last month