What a difference a month makes

Wednesday, 17th February 2010

Ros Reines on why more and more Australians are on the wagon in February

The party starts early in Australia. You can almost hear a crescendo of champagne corks popping on the first Tuesday in November for the Melbourne Cup, and it doesn’t fizzle out until the dying hours of the Australia Day weekend. No wonder that, by early February, many of us are suffering from alcohol fatigue. The symptoms are bloated bellies, general torpor and the frantic search for Panadol each morning to ward off the seemingly ever-present headaches.

Boozing is one of our summer pastimes. January alone can be an intoxicating month with little work being done throughout the country and many opportunities literally to take the piss. Perhaps we could get through it with our livers only semi-damaged if it wasn’t for the infernal cricket and the Australian Open. Whether you brave the searing heat at the game or watch it from the comfort of your couch, knocking back a few beers or pouring some chilled wine is mandatory. Drinking is to watching sport what popcorn is to going to the movies: all part of the ritual. To do one without the other is to feel cheated.

January is often an emotional month, especially when the credit card bills arrive and the full extent of your Christmas largesse is coldly laid out in black and white. As you swamp down a stiff drink while you stare at the terrifying amount you have spent, you resolve never ever to go shopping for gifts again when you are as full as a goog with festive cheer.

This year, you vow, you will be a cleanskin and treat yourself with respect. Your body is a temple and your mind can lead you to heaven or hell. So, not surprisingly, one of the sounds most often heard in February is the thud of all those bar fridge doors slamming, as everyone resolves to swear off alcohol. Even the media seems to be in on the act: in early February our television screens are filled with wobbling beerguts as the ultimate flab-fighting contest — The Biggest Loser — unfolds right after the tennis. It’s a sobering reminder that if no drastic action is taken, we too will find ourselves humiliated should we ever foolishly kit ourselves out in unforgiving black Lycra. There really is nowhere left to hide.

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