The 1000 Days Sober Blog

Blog Posts From 1000 Days Sober

Sunk Costs


At times during the end of my railway career, I felt like a leper. When I walked into a room, people wanted to leave. I took it. My railway pension was 19-years-old. I couldn't throw it away. 

At the same time, the aftermath of drunken arguments with my wife began resembling a slaughterhouse floor. I was desperately unhappy, as was she, yet I would have stayed betrothed, miserable, until the bitter end. 15-years of marriage, I couldn't throw it away.

Over two decades, from Accrington to Amsterdam, Paris to Plymouth and Zürich to Zaragoza, I had drunk a Pacific Ocean worth of alcohol. I had friendships built around the bottle - post office workers, bar fitters, binmen, painters, car plant supervisors, recruitment managers, men and women I had known for decades. 

All three of these major components of my life provided me with comfort, and the thought of leaving either sent me sprawling towards fear like the spray of a submachine gun. 

Then I brought the axe down on alcohol.

I overcame fear. 

The railway went next.

Then my wife did the hard graft and asked for a divorce.

Then.

One.

By.

One.

Went.

The.

Post office workers, bar fitters, binmen, painters, car plant supervisors and recruitment managers. Men and women I had known for decades. 

But the alcohol went first.

Yes, the alcohol went first.