For a long time I’ve been scared of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Not, you understand, that I’ve ever been to an AA meeting or even, to my knowledge, spoken to anyone who has, but they still scared me. I’d like to say that, as a life-long atheist, it was because it was all a bit religious for me. Four of their 12 steps explicitly mention god, and a further 3 allude to religion.

Or, I could say that I don’t have any good stories to tell. When they all sit around and say, “My name is Cthulhu, and I am an alcoholic,” they then have to launch into how they hit rock-bottom (I am basing all this on what I’ve seen on TV, remember, so this may not be accurate). Anyway, I never hit rock-bottom. I’ve never physically hurt anyone because I was drunk. I’ve never been waiting outside a pub at 9am. I’ve never chugged Brasso or meths. I’ve never even been sick through drinking or missed a day’s work because of a hangover.

No, what scared me, as a drinker since long before it was legal for me to be so, was that they wanted me to give up all alcohol forever. That was terrifying. The thought of never having an alcoholic drink ever again. Not having a bottle of wine on a Thursday evening, to celebrate it being nearly the weekend, or seeing in the actual weekend with a couple of cans after work on Friday, or chilling with a nice white on a Saturday night, or a few G&Ts at the end of a Sunday, or 5 or 6 pints at the midweek quiz night.

I mean, I could see their point… real alcoholics probably did need to give it all up forever, but I wasn’t one of them. I was just an ordinary person, living a functional life, quietly drinking my 50 or 60 units a week, every week. Sure, I could see the argument for showing a bit more moderation, after all, I did have my fair share of mornings where I promised myself I’d cut down a bit.

Then I never did.

And nothing bad happened. Life went on. There were no health scares. No waking up in a gutter. My wife didn’t leave me. I didn’t become estranged from my children. I wasn’t arrested for drunk-driving. I didn’t lose my job.

If I was sitting in an AA circle of chairs now, clutching my cup of coffee, with the rest of the group waiting for the point of my story, I’d feel like a Call of Duty player at a trauma counselling session for military veterans. Instead, on 2nd July last year, I had a fairly quiet evening – 3 or 4 of those little 25cl bottles of French beer, and woke up the following morning with the decision in my mind that that was it for me, and I stopped drinking.

We’ve reached the point where I tell you how much better I feel, that I’m more alive, that I’ve saved enough money to buy a Ferrorghini, and I’m bursting with – licks eyebrows – vigour. Well, I’m going to let you down as badly as my imaginary AA group. I don’t feel any healthier, and I’m still driving a 16-year-old car, and packing 2 inches of wet spaghetti in the trouser department. Instead I’ve had a year of little fears; how do you get through a weekend without drinking, what do you do on holiday, how do you go out for a meal, or meet with friends, how do you do a dry Christmas or New Year’s Eve, what does one do on one’s birthday sober?

Turns out they’re all fine. You just don’t drink. I don’t even have a tale of battling my demons. I did worry that not drinking would make me dull, but then I remembered I’m dull anyway, and at least now my dullness is at the correct speaking volume, coherent, and I can drive myself home when you get sick of me.

There you have it, then. My turn in our little virtual AA meeting is over. Give a polite clap, go get another coffee. No hurry, I’ll wait. My name is Andrew and I’m not a real alcoholic. I’m one year sober, proud of myself, and I’m not scared of forever any more.