Any excuse would do. I was seven months sober and travelling well. I had got through the worst of it. No more cravings, clear headed, saving money and my health was on track. So much hard work had got me to this stage and I was pleased with my progress. My parents were too. I was sober for myself but I was also doing it for my family, especially my folks. What ruined this for me was my back shed had a stack of empty beer cans that had been accumulating while I was out there painting. I was aware they were there but was too lazy to get rid of them. I was out at the time but my dad came across them. I figured if he ever found them I’d tell the truth and say they were old. He didn’t believe me and neither did Mum. He told me that they thought I’d been sober for all this time while I was actually doing the sneaky, drinking out the back. This was such a blow for me. I didn’t know how I could convince them that they weren’t evidence of a relapse. It was deeply upsetting, and then that little voice popped up…

Screw it, Dave — the folks already assume you’ve been drinking when you haven’t, their trust in you is gone, and so I’m suddenly a free man again, able to stroll down to the bottle shop and buy whatever I please. That’ll teach my parents a lesson, right? What do I have to lose at this point? I wandered into the shop and walked out with two bottles of red wine in my hands. It was out of character for me to reach for anything other than beer, and I still can’t fully explain why I chose wine that night. You probably already know how the rest of this goes: straight back into a binge, one that stretched on for months..

I’m not sure if this was the excuse I needed to drink? It felt a bit like revenge. ‘You did this to me, Mum and Dad, and just look what happened.’ Nobody forced me into the bottle shop, nobody poured the poison down my throat. This was entirely my doing. What matters now is that I’m back on the wagon and sober once again. I haven’t told my parents this time around; it feels safer that way.