Country Living with Francis Farragher

This is a battle or discourse where I acknowledge defeat even before I write the first dozen or so words. I cannot seem to pick up a magazine, newspaper (even our own offering) without being bamboozled with lectures about dry Januarys and why almost everyone across the universe is feeling a lot better because they have given up the demon . . . forever.

Now don’t get me wrong. One of my passionate hatreds in life is a hangover which I estimate I have reduced to three or four in the year, but that’s still three or four too many. They are pesky little animals: that feeling of unwellness; a notable downturn in mood; no great interest in food; and that longing for bedtime to come.

So, there’s definitely agreement on that one . . . too much of the ‘quare stuff’ is bad news both for the imbiber and their associates, but I just wonder is there any case at all to be made for those silent warriors, including myself, who enjoy two or three pints, a bit of banter, even the odd heated discussion about vaccines and Putin, maybe rattle out an old ballad or two, and still feel pretty okay in the morning.

The weekend before last I even bought the Saturday edition of the Irish Times when I heard a radio blurb about an article written by Conor Pope headed: “When dry January turns into forever dry.” Many years ago, Conor was a very welcome cum talented placement and temporary work colleague in the newsroom at the old Connacht Tribune in Market Street and has for many years been a very informative consumer affairs correspondent with the Irish Times.

Anyway, back in January of 2022, Conor and partner decided to embark on a dry January, little realising that this would gradually transform itself into a permanent transition where booze would no longer be part of their lives. In fairness, the article was certainly no ‘lecture’ but a very factual account of what was far from any Pauline conversion on the road to Damascus.

My only real gripe with the piece was that it only appeared in the January 11th edition of the Irish Times when my fate was well and truly sealed in that first 10-days of the year 2025 . . . no big sessions or anything like that but the usual ‘two or three’ and as any good regular in the local might wryly if dishonestly observe: ‘purely for medicinal purposes’.

Pictured: Resisting everything except temptation.