Editorial: A little shy of Dry July

Boozing didn't preclude sublime poetry in James K Baxter's oeuvre, writes Mark Story. Photo / Supplied

One of the privileges of a job that has a high public profile (ie writing to a large audience) is that one's word is one's bond.

There's no wriggle room.

So when I say I'm signing up to Dry July, I guess I'm locked in.

Any slip-up will be a public slip-up, and I'll get a deserved public towelling.

July's not a bad month to practice booze abstinence; it's mid-winter and I'm not big on mulled wine.

Plus my son came home for university holidays on Wednesday this week, so we had a chance to chat over a beer or two before the imminent July challenge.

My wife, who imbibes nothing compared with her husband, will, bless her, also go cold turkey.

Come tomorrow, the conversations will be held over coffee and overrated herbal tea.

Truth be told I have no idea how I'm going to handle it.

My background, environmentally and genetically, works against me.

For starters there's the Anglo-Irish ancestry; I was born with a blood-alcohol reading.

I played rugby from primary school right through to the end of university, where (excepting primary school) beer was consumed in massive volumes.

A few years later in Wellington a friend taught me how to brew my own ale. So, even when money was tight I had a cheap and endless supply of quarts atop the washing machine ready for consumption.

I also have a love for the short-lived heroics of the romantic, whisky-rotten writers James K Baxter, Denis Glover and Dylan Thomas. Functioning alcoholics the lot of them, whose rampant drinking didn't preclude an incandescent and prolific output.

Pair this with a high-pressure career in media, where for 15 years my cellphone screen has rarely dimmed, and where booze traditionally goes hand-in-glove.

Add five kids to the mix and alcohol looms as the ever alluring end-of-day anaesthetic.

The best piece of advice on the topic was from a school teacher in the 90s. He told that alcohol was "a good friend but a bad enemy". His warning, though, was that "the latter tends to disguise itself as the former".

However, tonight, June's finale, I'll be partying. Tomorrow I'll begin the uncharted 31 days of temperance.