Alcohol-free rum is like football without the actual ball, or cinema without the films. I tried it last night, having found a bottle in a nearby shop, but was distinctly unimpressed. Frankly, it just tasted like hyper-sweetened orange juice. I have been off the drink since the nightmare in Cyprus, of course, but last night I really felt like a little fun. Needless to say I do feel a lot better for having stopped drinking, and certainly plan to keep it up; yet I must admit that part of me feels slightly conflicted.

Ever since school I told myself that, when my friends such as Lee Donnelly passed away, all caution would be thrown to the wind and I’d start drinking as much as I wanted. I planned it to be my way of remembering those guys; and after all, how else was I going to cope in a world where such bright lights can be extinguished so young? I didn’t intend to become an alcoholic, but rather ignore the voices of caution in the back of my mind and live life as full as I could. Now that I have once again cut booze out completely, and am not sure whether I can ever return to it, that plan has fallen by the wayside, and I must admit that part of me feels faintly sad about it.

Nonetheless, as I say I do feel far better these days. Last night’s experiment with alcohol-free rum may have been a disappointment, but I think it was born of a desire to let off a bit of steam, the way I used to. There is so much serious stuff going on in the world right now – so many wars, so much conflict, so much stomach-churning idiocy – that when Friday night comes round, you can’t help fancying something tto drink.