Adrian Chiles, 51, reveals he has drank every day since turning 15 — but didn’t think he had a problem
I’M 51 years old.
I’ve been drinking for 36 years since I was 15, more or less every day.
I’ve worked out that if I lined up every drink I’ve ever had, the row of glasses would stretch beyond two-and-a-half miles — the length of 44 football pitches.
Yet somehow I’d convinced myself I didn’t have a problem.
Hardly any of my many friends or acquaintances would say I have a problem, either.
If I lined up every drink I’ve ever had, the row of glasses would stretch beyond two-and-a-half miles
Adrian Chiles
And actually that’s been the problem — it never looked like I had a problem.
I rarely drank during the day or stayed up very late drinking.
Neither did I do much drinking on my own, or regularly drink vast amounts at one sitting.
I never got into fights, or woke up with strangers, and I’ve never really suffered with hangovers.
The result of all this is that, as police say when they’re moving crowds away from the scene of an accident, “There’s nothing to see here.”
My drinking is so mundane, undramatic and decidedly uninteresting that it was hard to know what to film for my TV documentary on the subject, which you can see on BBC2, Monday night.
Most days, I meet my mate for an early-evening drink at a pub in West London.
We didn’t film this because it was just too boring.
I have a couple of pints of Guinness, perhaps a glass of wine too, and that’s often enough.
So far, so moderate, but over a week that’s more than 30 units of alcohol, which is more than twice the doctors’ recommended maximum.
And then if you throw in a couple of proper nights out, and perhaps a liquid lunch, it turns out I was in pretty heavy drinking territory.
My producers and I were having a spirited discussion about all this in the back of a people carrier one day during filming.
I could see the driver, a middle-aged guy, was listening.
I asked him how much he drank and he told me he didn’t drink during the week at all because of his driving job.
“But,” he added, “at the weekend I drink 24 pints.”
“Blimey,” I said.
My drinking is mundane, undramatic and decidedly uninteresting
Adrian Chiles
“I drink 12 pints of lager on Saturday,” he explained.
“And 12 pints of lager on Sunday.”
I went from being shocked at the amount, to quite horrified at the realisation that, over a week, he was still drinking less than me.
The trouble with most TV documentaries about alcohol dependency is that they focus on the extreme cases.
You know the kind of thing — drinking in the morning and all day every day, stinking of booze, often sick, waking up in shop doorways, frequently ending up in hospital.
Drama, drama, drama.
The trouble with that is, drinkers like me look at those people and say, “Oh that’s not me, I’m not like that. Therefore, I’m OK.”
Well, it turns out, I’m not completely OK.
For sure, I’m not sleeping on a park bench with my life in tatters, but evidence that alcohol has taken its toll was all around me once I started looking.
I have four significant health issues — I’m a bit overweight and I take medication for high blood pressure, reflux and anxiety.
It’s likely I’d suffer a lot less with all of those things if I didn’t drink.
And then there was the moment in the film when the specialist told me about the damage my hitherto unproblematic problem drinking had done to my liver.
“Something,” he said, “has got to change.”
So what do I do now? Ignore him, drink less, or stop drinking altogether?
Ignoring him completely isn’t actually out of the question.
I owe it to my older self, and my family, to do something constructive now
Adrian Chiles
He’s not saying I’m going to drop dead any time soon, after all.
And as one friend put it, “So what if your liver’s half-knackered — you’re halfway through your life anyway so what’s the problem?”
Fair point, possibly.
But I think I owe it to my older self, and my family, to do something constructive now.
So do I try to stop completely or cut down?
In the first instance I am trying to moderate my drinking to something close to the suggested maximum of 14 units a week.
This, you’ll be astonished to learn, isn’t proving easy.
Honestly, it’s not because I find myself craving a drink.
It’s just that my entire social life revolves around alcohol.
It feels more like a habit than an addiction.
If I meet a mate, we go for a drink.
If I turn up to meet an old friend and announce I’m not drinking, I feel as if I’m letting them down.
It feels more like a habit than an addiction
Adrian Chiles
And if they do the same to me, I feel a bit offended, too.
A while ago, an old drinking buddy of mine, I hardly ever see, turned up to meet me at a pub in his car!
For a moment I actually felt offended.
I almost said, “So this is all I mean to you now? You don’t even want to drink with me any more?
“Oh, thanks a bunch.”
Ludicrous.
The difficulty with alcohol is that it’s the one drug you have to apologise for NOT taking.
I made a solemn promise to myself during the making of the film that I’d never put any pressure on anyone to drink, and neither would I be pressured myself.
I made that promise in a car with the director and producer, on our way back from interviewing someone.
We then went back to my place and I cooked them dinner.
The director was drinking but the producer, Jess, wasn’t because she had to drive later.
Before I knew it, it had become very important to me that Jess had a drink.
It sort of didn’t feel like a complete night unless she joined in.
I nagged away at her to leave the car with me, and I got my way.
Jess had a couple of drinks and I was happy. But I’d broken my vow within hours.
What’s all that about? The truth is, I’m not sure what to do with people who don’t drink.
Drinkers like me tell themselves that everyone drinks. But I think we’re conning ourselves.
Adrian Chiles
For example, I met Shaun Wallace recently, the barrister off The Chase.
I liked him and thought it would be good to get together.
But Shaun doesn’t drink because he’s not fussed by booze, so I’m at a loss what to suggest.
If he drank, it would be easy — go for a few drinks, talk and bond, and all would be good.
Without that option, what do we do? Don’t say, “Go for a coffee.”
You can’t drink coffee for three hours.
I think I’m going to see if he wants to go out for a walk with me or something. A bit odd, but needs must.
Drinkers like me tell themselves that everyone drinks. But I think we’re conning ourselves.
It’s just that our friends all happen to drink.
And I’ve realised we’re probably friends with them in the first place because they, like us, drink.
Drinkers seek out the company of other drinkers, even without knowing it.
In my first week at university I met a lifelong friend called Ged. He was, like me, into beer and football.
Drinkers seek out the company of other drinkers, even without knowing it.
Adrian Chiles
I remember asking him one night in freshers’ week if he was coming to the bar.
He said, “No, I’m going to Mass.”
And I thought that was quite cool.
But it’s only just occurred to me that if he’d answered by saying, “No, I don’t drink”, I undoubtedly would not have become friends with him.
It turns out I can’t change my drinking without slightly reworking my whole life.
It may well end up easier to stop completely, but I want to find a way of drinking less because otherwise, sooner or later, I’ll be told by some doctor that I have to stop.
I don’t want this to happen.
I’m thinking about the thousands of drinks I’ve had in my life and wondering how many I actually needed or wanted or enjoyed.
Not many.
So now I’ve got to work out which of my pints or glasses of wine I really enjoy, and just stick to them.
After all, it’s only ever the first one that hits the mark.
The others are just habit.
So, it’s an early evening pint for me, then a nice walk with Shaun Wallace