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| Sex, drugs and bacon rolls – what have you given up? | Sex, drugs and bacon rolls – what have you given up? |
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| Philip Hoare: Punk overturned my preconceptions – including eating meat | Philip Hoare: Punk overturned my preconceptions – including eating meat |
| Eating meat in suburban Southampton in the 1960s was an indifferent article of faith, much as people used to automatically tick Church of England on a form. No one would have questioned its rejection. Except my older brother. Alone in an ordinary family of six, and for no discernible reason, he declined animal flesh. He loved fast cars, cool clothes, and girls; he just didn’t go with the menu. | Eating meat in suburban Southampton in the 1960s was an indifferent article of faith, much as people used to automatically tick Church of England on a form. No one would have questioned its rejection. Except my older brother. Alone in an ordinary family of six, and for no discernible reason, he declined animal flesh. He loved fast cars, cool clothes, and girls; he just didn’t go with the menu. |
| It took me more than 25 years before I realised what an example Andrew had set me. I’d never liked meat much, although only the thought, and actuality, of offal, actually revolted me. When I left home in 1976 to go to college in London, punk was kicking in, and overturning my preconceptions. If I’d ever been interested in food at all, a fast-forward culture of cheap drink and bad speed soon rendered eating a perfunctory process. | It took me more than 25 years before I realised what an example Andrew had set me. I’d never liked meat much, although only the thought, and actuality, of offal, actually revolted me. When I left home in 1976 to go to college in London, punk was kicking in, and overturning my preconceptions. If I’d ever been interested in food at all, a fast-forward culture of cheap drink and bad speed soon rendered eating a perfunctory process. |
| What finally flicked the switch was going to work at Rough Trade in 1981. It was run as a co-op, and not only did everyone earn the same wage and work the same hours – although I habitually turned up two hours late, to take a post-amphetamine breakfast of a Twix, a cup of tea, and a Rothmans – but we all ate the same lunch. The entire place, with its woody, somewhat worthy interior, resembled a wholefood warehouse, and with the Smiths on the books, I guess there was no alternative: I doubt Morrissey could have been enticed on to the premises otherwise. Punk had opened up my eyes to radical politics. Now, at the height of indie ideology, I discovered that not only was meat not compulsory, but that there was an alternative. Sceptical friends accused me of eating “nuts and wood”. But I realised, too, with shameful retrospection, that my late conversion challenged what I thought about animals, and the roles we have assigned to them. | What finally flicked the switch was going to work at Rough Trade in 1981. It was run as a co-op, and not only did everyone earn the same wage and work the same hours – although I habitually turned up two hours late, to take a post-amphetamine breakfast of a Twix, a cup of tea, and a Rothmans – but we all ate the same lunch. The entire place, with its woody, somewhat worthy interior, resembled a wholefood warehouse, and with the Smiths on the books, I guess there was no alternative: I doubt Morrissey could have been enticed on to the premises otherwise. Punk had opened up my eyes to radical politics. Now, at the height of indie ideology, I discovered that not only was meat not compulsory, but that there was an alternative. Sceptical friends accused me of eating “nuts and wood”. But I realised, too, with shameful retrospection, that my late conversion challenged what I thought about animals, and the roles we have assigned to them. |
| I haven’t eat meat since, with one exception. In 1993, I was driving through KwaZulu-Natal with my friend Mark Ashurst, at the height of the internecine hostilities before the first democratic elections in South Africa. Mark was working for the ANC-funded voter education trust, Matla, and we arrived, very late, at the home of an ANC worker who offered to put us up for the night. There were gun shots in the distance. His wife had stayed up to prepare us supper – meat, inevitably. There are points were the niceties of consumption are overruled. That was one of them. | I haven’t eat meat since, with one exception. In 1993, I was driving through KwaZulu-Natal with my friend Mark Ashurst, at the height of the internecine hostilities before the first democratic elections in South Africa. Mark was working for the ANC-funded voter education trust, Matla, and we arrived, very late, at the home of an ANC worker who offered to put us up for the night. There were gun shots in the distance. His wife had stayed up to prepare us supper – meat, inevitably. There are points were the niceties of consumption are overruled. That was one of them. |
| Nicole Mowbray: Giving up sugar gave me back control of my life | Nicole Mowbray: Giving up sugar gave me back control of my life |
| Three and a half years ago, I gave up eating sugar. Since then, I can count on one hand the number of chocolate bars or fizzy drinks I’ve consumed. Why do I put myself through such purgatory? | Three and a half years ago, I gave up eating sugar. Since then, I can count on one hand the number of chocolate bars or fizzy drinks I’ve consumed. Why do I put myself through such purgatory? |
| Back in 2012, I was 32, overweight (14 stone and a size 16), spotty, sick, tired and grumpy. I was raised to believe that it was fat that was unhealthy, not sugar, and thought I ate healthily – fresh, wholesome foods, always getting my five-a-day. | Back in 2012, I was 32, overweight (14 stone and a size 16), spotty, sick, tired and grumpy. I was raised to believe that it was fat that was unhealthy, not sugar, and thought I ate healthily – fresh, wholesome foods, always getting my five-a-day. |
| Yet my jawline was spottier than it had been as a teen. Mood swings and anxiety ruled my days and nights – and no matter how much I slept, I felt tired and lethargic. My periods were erratic too and every couple of months I’d be at the doctor’s with tonsillitis. | Yet my jawline was spottier than it had been as a teen. Mood swings and anxiety ruled my days and nights – and no matter how much I slept, I felt tired and lethargic. My periods were erratic too and every couple of months I’d be at the doctor’s with tonsillitis. |
| Mostly, however, I craved sweet stuff – all the time. So I decided to cut it out, overnight, to see if I could break the cycle. It was hard, but it completely changed my life. | Mostly, however, I craved sweet stuff – all the time. So I decided to cut it out, overnight, to see if I could break the cycle. It was hard, but it completely changed my life. |
| There were obvious things to ditch – cocktails, sweets, biscuits, cakes, ice-cream. But as I researched what I’d been putting in my mouth, I found things I thought were “healthy” were high in secret sugars too – smoked salmon, smoothies, sauces, sushi rice, low-fat dairy products. | There were obvious things to ditch – cocktails, sweets, biscuits, cakes, ice-cream. But as I researched what I’d been putting in my mouth, I found things I thought were “healthy” were high in secret sugars too – smoked salmon, smoothies, sauces, sushi rice, low-fat dairy products. |
| It wasn’t easy, but within two months, my body had slimmed down and my life had changed. The emotional rollercoaster of sugar highs and lows disappeared. I felt fuller, quicker and for longer. | It wasn’t easy, but within two months, my body had slimmed down and my life had changed. The emotional rollercoaster of sugar highs and lows disappeared. I felt fuller, quicker and for longer. |
| And from then on, it got easier. Over the next six months, my skin continued improving. Having more energy really helped shed excess weight. My periods regulated themselves, my tastebuds were gradually retrained not to want sweet things. Now, I rarely crave sugar. | And from then on, it got easier. Over the next six months, my skin continued improving. Having more energy really helped shed excess weight. My periods regulated themselves, my tastebuds were gradually retrained not to want sweet things. Now, I rarely crave sugar. |
| Three years on, I weigh 2.5 stone less than I used to and my body shape is transformed. But best of all, I finally feel like I’m in control of what I’m eating rather than the other way around. And that’s the sweetest treat of all. | Three years on, I weigh 2.5 stone less than I used to and my body shape is transformed. But best of all, I finally feel like I’m in control of what I’m eating rather than the other way around. And that’s the sweetest treat of all. |
| Sarah Graham: You name it, I drank it | Sarah Graham: You name it, I drank it |
| I loved alcohol. I started drinking regularly aged 12 and drank for more than 20 years. The trajectory of my drinking is enormously evocative of ages and places: Cinzano Bianco and lemonade (gran’s house), scrumpy (we lived in Wiltshire), pints of real ale and spliffs (my first “proper boyfriend”). This was the 80s. You name it, I probably drank it. I could drink men under the table and then might shag them there (men are much easier to pull than women). But I wasn’t an alcoholic. I was fun. A free spirit. | |
| Like the people signing up for Stoptober – I could stop anytime. And did. For long periods. Through my 20s, I was successful in TV. Work hard, party harder. I cycled to work and ate organic. Other drugs (not ethically produced) would come and go. Sometimes I’d hit the gym and be super-fit. But not drinking means you are “boring” and a bit suspect; so sooner or later I always fell off the wagon. Bad things could happen when I was drunk/high/often both and things could get chaotic and unmanageable. I may or may not remember the next day. | Like the people signing up for Stoptober – I could stop anytime. And did. For long periods. Through my 20s, I was successful in TV. Work hard, party harder. I cycled to work and ate organic. Other drugs (not ethically produced) would come and go. Sometimes I’d hit the gym and be super-fit. But not drinking means you are “boring” and a bit suspect; so sooner or later I always fell off the wagon. Bad things could happen when I was drunk/high/often both and things could get chaotic and unmanageable. I may or may not remember the next day. |
| I’d start the night in the safety of the Groucho Club, sipping something sophisticated and doing a few cheeky lines. By midnight I’d be in a club, havin’ it large (this was the 90s). At dawn, I’d creep back home like a dishevelled vampire – and end the night pissing in the cat litter tray. | |
| The teenage social anxiety and insecurities alcohol used to fix so well started coming back with a vengeance. As Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) Big Book says: alcohol is the “rapacious creditor”. But even when those close loved ones around me started “nagging” me about my escalating weekly unit intake and trying to get me to go to AA meetings, in dingy church halls, I knew I was definitely not an alcoholic. Not a real one. No way! | The teenage social anxiety and insecurities alcohol used to fix so well started coming back with a vengeance. As Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) Big Book says: alcohol is the “rapacious creditor”. But even when those close loved ones around me started “nagging” me about my escalating weekly unit intake and trying to get me to go to AA meetings, in dingy church halls, I knew I was definitely not an alcoholic. Not a real one. No way! |
| Related: Alcoholics Anonymous saved my life, but not by curing a 'disease' | Damian Thompson | Related: Alcoholics Anonymous saved my life, but not by curing a 'disease' | Damian Thompson |
| And yet, when my dad died in 2001, I did end up in the Priory. For the cocaine. I went into rehab for a four-week rest and recuperation and emerged eight months later, totally abstinent – and I haven’t had a drink or a drug for 5,043 days. It was bloody hard at first. Putting down the cocaine was actually relatively easy: the demon drink is the “cunning, baffling and powerful” one I have to keep my guard up for. | And yet, when my dad died in 2001, I did end up in the Priory. For the cocaine. I went into rehab for a four-week rest and recuperation and emerged eight months later, totally abstinent – and I haven’t had a drink or a drug for 5,043 days. It was bloody hard at first. Putting down the cocaine was actually relatively easy: the demon drink is the “cunning, baffling and powerful” one I have to keep my guard up for. |
| In early recovery, I had to do lots of support group meetings and, much to my surprise, as my therapist and I dug through the layers of denial, I found that I qualified for most of the 12-step programme: alcohol, drugs, codependent relationships, food, gambling and work. The shopping (yes, that too) list is long. | In early recovery, I had to do lots of support group meetings and, much to my surprise, as my therapist and I dug through the layers of denial, I found that I qualified for most of the 12-step programme: alcohol, drugs, codependent relationships, food, gambling and work. The shopping (yes, that too) list is long. |
| I left my London media life behind and bought a small house in the country and trained as an addictions therapist. | I left my London media life behind and bought a small house in the country and trained as an addictions therapist. |
| Life got happy, full and busy. Having become an embarrassing liability in my addiction, I’m now something of a pillar of society – sitting on the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. | Life got happy, full and busy. Having become an embarrassing liability in my addiction, I’m now something of a pillar of society – sitting on the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. |
| In case that all sounds a bit square or boring, every year I do a personal challenge to expand my life and add value to my recovery. Last year I did skydiving, and spoke in a debate at the Oxford Union! This year, I did a stand-up comedy course. Terrifying. I absolutely loved it. I’m now becoming the world’s first intersex stand-up. A few weeks ago, I asked to rejoin the Groucho Club. They won’t have me back. Isn’t that ironic? Still, she who laughs last … | |
| Hephzibah Anderson: A chastity vow was liberating | Hephzibah Anderson: A chastity vow was liberating |
| We’ve all had moments in our lives when sex seems to have given us up. You’re focused on protecting a bruised heart or forgetting that last ego-squishing entanglement, and before you know it, weeks have turned into months and your dry spell becomes a sprawling desert. So why, you may wonder, would anyone voluntarily give up sex? Some years ago, I did just that. For a full 12 months. And no, it wasn’t so I could write a book about it – that came much later. | We’ve all had moments in our lives when sex seems to have given us up. You’re focused on protecting a bruised heart or forgetting that last ego-squishing entanglement, and before you know it, weeks have turned into months and your dry spell becomes a sprawling desert. So why, you may wonder, would anyone voluntarily give up sex? Some years ago, I did just that. For a full 12 months. And no, it wasn’t so I could write a book about it – that came much later. |
| I’d turned 30 and taken a long hard look at almost a decade’s worth of failed relationships. The men had one thing in common: they were unsuitable. Too old, too caught up with their exes, too geographically – or emotionally – remote. | I’d turned 30 and taken a long hard look at almost a decade’s worth of failed relationships. The men had one thing in common: they were unsuitable. Too old, too caught up with their exes, too geographically – or emotionally – remote. |
| Related: Chastity can help us develop authentic sexuality in a hyper-sexual world | Imogen Bailey | Related: Chastity can help us develop authentic sexuality in a hyper-sexual world | Imogen Bailey |
| Sex seemed to be the complicating factor. Along with lacy lingerie, I apparently cast off good sense and intuition, my frog seeming suddenly prince-like. But what if sex were no longer on the menu? There was only one way to find out. Give up anything, and suddenly it’s everywhere. Initially, my vow of chastity made me feel disconnected from the city around me. Every sexed-up ad, every raunchy chart-topper, every sultry fashion shoot – they all seemed aimed at other people. I hibernated in giant sweaters and gleefully stopped shaving my legs, but far from feeling like you do during a dry spell – invisible, frowsy – I felt empowered, liberated, and discovered a new physical confidence. | Sex seemed to be the complicating factor. Along with lacy lingerie, I apparently cast off good sense and intuition, my frog seeming suddenly prince-like. But what if sex were no longer on the menu? There was only one way to find out. Give up anything, and suddenly it’s everywhere. Initially, my vow of chastity made me feel disconnected from the city around me. Every sexed-up ad, every raunchy chart-topper, every sultry fashion shoot – they all seemed aimed at other people. I hibernated in giant sweaters and gleefully stopped shaving my legs, but far from feeling like you do during a dry spell – invisible, frowsy – I felt empowered, liberated, and discovered a new physical confidence. |
| At the same time, the world became a much more sensual-seeming place. Lingering glances, crisp autumn mornings, the bloom on a bunch of grapes: all carried a near-erotic charge. And there were other, equally unexpected benefits that helped me resist temptation. I tapped into fresh reserves of creative energy and became decisive. I had more time and emotional bandwidth to devote to platonic friendships and family relationships, which in turn became more rewarding. | At the same time, the world became a much more sensual-seeming place. Lingering glances, crisp autumn mornings, the bloom on a bunch of grapes: all carried a near-erotic charge. And there were other, equally unexpected benefits that helped me resist temptation. I tapped into fresh reserves of creative energy and became decisive. I had more time and emotional bandwidth to devote to platonic friendships and family relationships, which in turn became more rewarding. |
| Meanwhile, prospective dates tended to view my sex-free year as an interesting challenge. When you hold back physically, I learned, it can become easier to open up emotionally. Gone is the fear of seeming needy; gone, too, the option of using sex as a shortcut to intimacy. In slowing the pace, I’d claimed the right to be romanced. I also began to tune in to more enduring charms like loyalty and reliability. And, as the year drew to a close, someone I couldn’t have imagined going to bed with would begin sneaking his way into my heart. | Meanwhile, prospective dates tended to view my sex-free year as an interesting challenge. When you hold back physically, I learned, it can become easier to open up emotionally. Gone is the fear of seeming needy; gone, too, the option of using sex as a shortcut to intimacy. In slowing the pace, I’d claimed the right to be romanced. I also began to tune in to more enduring charms like loyalty and reliability. And, as the year drew to a close, someone I couldn’t have imagined going to bed with would begin sneaking his way into my heart. |
| Anne Perkins: My date with my last cigarette | Anne Perkins: My date with my last cigarette |
| I was hooked by the time I was halfway through the second cigarette. From that day on, I smoked at least 20 cigarettes a day, very nearly every day, for the next 26 years. I smoked small thin bitter Woodbines, my father’s untipped Senior Service which stuck to my lips and leaked tobacco into my mouth, and black tobacco from Spain that hit the back of your throat like eating razor blades. I preferred Marlboro, but in truth I would smoke anything. | I was hooked by the time I was halfway through the second cigarette. From that day on, I smoked at least 20 cigarettes a day, very nearly every day, for the next 26 years. I smoked small thin bitter Woodbines, my father’s untipped Senior Service which stuck to my lips and leaked tobacco into my mouth, and black tobacco from Spain that hit the back of your throat like eating razor blades. I preferred Marlboro, but in truth I would smoke anything. |
| We smoked everywhere. On the tube, on trains, on planes, at work, at the movies, and obviously in the pub and in bed. Under pressure, I would light one cigarette before I’d finished the first. | We smoked everywhere. On the tube, on trains, on planes, at work, at the movies, and obviously in the pub and in bed. Under pressure, I would light one cigarette before I’d finished the first. |
| Most people were astonishingly tolerant of their friends arriving pre-wrapped in their own cloud of air pollution. But slowly, inexorably, the climate chilled. The balance between the number of friends who smoked and those who didn’t shifted. At work smoking bans came in and designated smoking rooms, foul-smelling cupboard-sized ashtrays, were introduced – an accidental aversion therapy. | Most people were astonishingly tolerant of their friends arriving pre-wrapped in their own cloud of air pollution. But slowly, inexorably, the climate chilled. The balance between the number of friends who smoked and those who didn’t shifted. At work smoking bans came in and designated smoking rooms, foul-smelling cupboard-sized ashtrays, were introduced – an accidental aversion therapy. |
| Alongside this cultural metamorphosis came the personal one of motherhood. Some people find being a parent confers a sense of genetic immortality. I, for no obvious reason, became obsessed not only with my children’s frailty but with my own. I became morbidly concerned with indications of ill health. In particular, the way my heart sometimes set off on an erratic gallop quite unconnected with exertion seemed an ominous warning. It was time to stop smoking. | Alongside this cultural metamorphosis came the personal one of motherhood. Some people find being a parent confers a sense of genetic immortality. I, for no obvious reason, became obsessed not only with my children’s frailty but with my own. I became morbidly concerned with indications of ill health. In particular, the way my heart sometimes set off on an erratic gallop quite unconnected with exertion seemed an ominous warning. It was time to stop smoking. |
| Before this moment of commitment, I had tried, feebly, several times. I read and reread one of those self-hypnosis books. I would sustain weeks of deception, finding secret spaces in which to smoke unobserved. I came to see that it was not smoking I treasured so much as being able to smoke. | Before this moment of commitment, I had tried, feebly, several times. I read and reread one of those self-hypnosis books. I would sustain weeks of deception, finding secret spaces in which to smoke unobserved. I came to see that it was not smoking I treasured so much as being able to smoke. |
| I must have read somewhere that one trick for giving up was to set a date for the last fag. So I did. It was to be a wedding anniversary for my non-smoking husband. A couple of ideas lodged in my head: marvel at the way non-smokers enjoy themselves without nicotine! And, reinvent yourself: you are not someone who has given up smoking – this was a particularly handy thought – you are someone who is a non-smoker! | I must have read somewhere that one trick for giving up was to set a date for the last fag. So I did. It was to be a wedding anniversary for my non-smoking husband. A couple of ideas lodged in my head: marvel at the way non-smokers enjoy themselves without nicotine! And, reinvent yourself: you are not someone who has given up smoking – this was a particularly handy thought – you are someone who is a non-smoker! |
| And it worked. Astonishingly well. On the appointed day, I smoked my last ciggie. As I stubbed it out, I announced that I was a non-smoker. Obviously I missed it, but not that much. After a year or two, I even stopped cosying to smokers for a free nicotine hit. Now I have even stopped telling myself that when the final hour comes, I’ll pour myself a large glass of wine and, at last, light a cigarette. I know the cigarette would taste horrible and anyway I no longer know where to get them. | And it worked. Astonishingly well. On the appointed day, I smoked my last ciggie. As I stubbed it out, I announced that I was a non-smoker. Obviously I missed it, but not that much. After a year or two, I even stopped cosying to smokers for a free nicotine hit. Now I have even stopped telling myself that when the final hour comes, I’ll pour myself a large glass of wine and, at last, light a cigarette. I know the cigarette would taste horrible and anyway I no longer know where to get them. |
| I am working on the idea of replacing the wine. But not quite yet. | I am working on the idea of replacing the wine. But not quite yet. |