What to do with your time if you stop drinking alcohol.

“Russia was built by people who drink vodka and drive.” Peter in Another Round.

As we move on from the pancake hangover I assume we are enjoying Lent. Well, I’m not sure enjoying it is part of the deal. After all, it’s a harder tradition to follow than eating pancake; its 40 days of abstinence is a poor follow-up to pancakes squashed beneath an inch of Nutella.

Lent is hardcore. It has none of the chirpy promises made beneath the Christmas tree that characterises the cheery no booze January marlarky. Saying you’re not going to drink in January after having polished off enough alcohol to keep a small off license in business for a month is like declaring abstinence from sex seconds after orgasm.

Only 30 days without the devil’s milk. Pah! Allow the real warriors on stage. Lent is the six-week period leading up to Easter. Yes, six weeks. Religion certainly is the hard sell amongst today’s unchecked indulgence; you can see why so few people identify as having no religion, or perhaps the NHS wasn’t one of the options.

Lent is one of the most important times of year for Christians, and kicks off the day after pancakes have used every kitchen utensil and ruined two frying pans. Shrove Tuesday existed to remove the things you were forgoing during Lent, a sort of blowout that traditionally included meat, fish, eggs, fats, milk and sugar. These days we should be binging on Netflix, smart phones, M&S profiteroles and impulsive online deliveries for the day, but we already are.

But it’s always booze isn’t it? What are you giving up you’re asked. Negativity always seems a smart answer, but instead you default to booze. I was asked by my dentist how much I drink per week. I mean he’s not even my dentist, he’s lots of peoples’ dentist, but still, rather than suggesting it was none of his goddamn business and storming out the surgery whilst not forgetting to take off the plastic visor, I told him. Well, I told him what I thought sounded like a healthy amount which I’d arrived at after quartering what I really drink. And he said, ‘well that was the recommended amount by the government, but they’ve now reduced it.’ Hold on. It was immediately apparent that whoever these public servants are, prodding around in our habits and slowly drawing in the strings, had changed their minds. ‘Well, if they got it wrong last time what makes you think they’ve got it right this time?’ He didn't answer, but scribbled something on a piece of paper that hopefully won’t make it onto my digitally held health record when they introduce digital ID at the end of the year. Actually, there’s no hopefully about it; I won’t be getting one.

So, back to Shrove Tuesday. It is a day of self-examination where Christians would consider what sins they needed to repent of and what changes to their life or spiritual growth they would focus on during the fast. Perhaps it’s whilst drunk that we are most regretful of our actions, although I’m sure we’re pretty adept at that sober. So, what is life like without booze?

It probably depends upon your age. A mid-lifer who’s seen as many hangovers as they have glasses of wine might have concluded that the punishment no longer justifies the crime. Hangovers in your 40s are the closest a human can get to the helplessness of a turtle flipped on its back. You simply groan and pray for the tide to right you the following day via takeout and a film you can barely focus on. Hangovers become such a monumental waste of time that you have to strike out an entire day in your diary.

Meanwhile, a twenty-something still finding joy and excitement in the hazy shade of pubs, bars and clubs might prefer to amputate their (non-drinking arm) than give up alcohol. Pubs swirl with Friday night drinks fuelling forgotten yet consequential conversations. New generations act out the rituals of their forefathers as though the custom needs to be preserved through unknowing yet willing supplicants. There’s also much promise that regardless to its fruition you’re back there next week.

So many connections are made in the blur that alcohol provides, the careless hug, or laugh or glance that alcohol permits so often leads to romantic relationships for couples whom might have never have united otherwise. Cupid’s arrow usually flies marinated in beer and wine. This doesn’t of course guarantee longevity, unless you’re prepared to remain permanently inebriated, but it’s a bloody good start. Yet, it’s not actually the only way.

But, where’s the courage if it’s not Dutch? Of course it’s in there somewhere, yet it’s a mountain to climb; with booze it has a ski lift and bar snacks. Not drinking brings an unwelcome clarity to social gatherings that might be useful in a solemn observance and preparation for the celebration of the death and resurrection of Jesus at Easter, but is far less likely to get you laid.

Things are not helped by the glamour of booze - no one mentions the mood swings, missing teeth and red bulbous noses - authors in particular contribute to this idea. Hemingway drank every day until 8 p.m, while his contemporary Fitzgerald found his prose shimmering in stem glasses of gin slings and 20s Manhattan. Don Draper in Mad Men even maintained the soft-focus elegance of whiskey in stout tumblers while they slowly pulled him under. Everyone is so impressed by so-and-so who can drink anyone under the table that no one asks why. Despite its dark undercurrent alcohol swaggers in the knowing it’s beyond critique. And after all, what is better than a few warm ales with a good friend in a wood-panelled corner pub.

The challenge for anyone giving up booze is perhaps seen via the advantage of swerving hangovers. Maybe they are a modern invention, I can’t quite believe western civilisation could have built the viaducts and aqueducts if it was hungover, but maybe that’s why the Romans required local slave labour while they slept off their nights before. Not drinking gives you a morning advantage at least twice a week, perhaps the challenge is how to best use it. Alcohol saps energy. Without it you are more you, which might be what we’re all trying to run from, and competing with other people’s ‘better’ drunken selves is a challenge, but perhaps the long-term sitting with your self provides an advantage others are too pie-eyed to see.