It occurred to me yesterday, sitting in a bar in Wales that’s older than the US drinking yet-another-coke while my sister drank a pint of Brains, that I hadn’t had a pint for exactly twelve months. It was her birthday party the year before where I had had my last bit of alcohol and decided to cut it out after that.

I don’t know what the trigger was. I’d given up alcohol before. It’s not hard, or at least I’ve never found it hard. If some people have an addictive personality I must represent the complete opposite end of the spectrum, capable of giving things up with such compulsion I’m like a monk on lent.

It’s pretty easy nowadays anyway, going to a pub to socialise without requiring a beverage out of a pump. And I’ve still got bottles around the apartment, but again, no desire to touch them. I can’t just… do something though. It’s got to have a goal, something with which to measure it. Like with running and GPS, or gaming and achievements, I’ve got my target for drinking sorted.