A typical night out would start with several glasses of wine or fizz, progress to shots, and often end with me the last one standing — or falling over — at the bar.
At my worst I was more than doubling that every single day — ploughing through a bottle of vodka and several glasses of wine - easily polishing off seven bottles and 30 glasses a week.
Nights out gradually turned into nights in with boxes of wine, to avoid falling over drunk or falling asleep on the night bus on the way home.
This had become my ‘normal’, a terrifying feeling fuelled by the bottle of vodka and several glasses of wine I’d got through the previous day.
The night before my 30th birthday got so wasted I hit the pavement face first, shattered a front tooth and spent the morning of my big day in a dentist’s chair.
