3. The Dopameter Diaries, Part 1 – Drinking Lad’s Holiday vs Sober Lad’s Holiday. Day 1 Comparison
Can a sober holiday really beat a drunk one?
This idea came to me at about 3:30am on a Sunday morning. Whether I can translate it from my head into a coherent Substack post is another matter altogether. The aim is to chart the levels of dopamine, happiness, and contentment versus the evils of stress, anxiety, fear, and depression — before, during, and after a lad’s holiday — using something called a line chart. Now, you won’t have heard of one of these, but trust me: they’re quite the hip tool in the modern office working environment!
Like many of my bad ideas, this one kind of grew legs and ran away from me, so I’m posting it in five parts: one post a week for the next five weeks.
Every September, me and about eight or nine mates head off on what is essentially a three-day lad’s bender to Torremolinos, Costa del Sol, Spain. I’ve done it several times as a drinker, but in Sept 2023 the trip landed in the middle of my 100-day alcohol-free challenge (day 83, to be precise). On returning from the 2023 trip, my friends and family didn’t believe me when I said the sober version was by far the most fun and enjoyable compared to the drunken ones.
I wrote daily journals about my 2023 trip at the time, but I thought I’d go into a bit more depth. With the help of these amazing, technologically advanced line charts, I’ll try to show why the AF “bender” was so much more enjoyable.
For the next few weeks, I’ll present five charts in total: Days 1, 2, and 3 of the holiday; then Days 4 and 5 (the aftermath) on respective charts; followed by an overall seven-day chart covering Thursday (when we set off) through to the following Thursday (four days after we returned).
Disclaimer: The Dopameter is a non-scientific measuring device located somewhere between my ears. All dopamine levels are based solely on my personal experience, but I’ll attempt to be 100% honest about the emotions I felt at each stage.
The Dopameter is my way of plotting mood against time — a back-of-the-napkin gauge of dopamine, happiness, and contentment. At 100% you’re basically on top of the world — pure euphoria. Drop below 50% and the graph flips to the darker side: anxiety, stress, fear, depression. Hit 0% and you’re curled up in the foetal position catastrophising every choice you’ve made in life.
Fig. 2 – Day 1:
The Y-axis tracks this Dopameter scale, while the X-axis runs from the 2:30am airport pick-up on Thursday through to 3am Friday. The yellow line shows my first sober lads’ holiday in 2023; the pink line, my drinking holiday in 2021.
For the following section, think of the film Sliding Doors. I’m running two versions of the same holiday side by side: my booze-fuelled trip in 2021 versus my first ever lads’ holiday sober in 2023 — where I was the only one not drinking. Each snapshot lines up with a point on the Dopameter chart, showing how the same stage of the day played out on two very different paths.
2am (2021): I’m getting picked up at 2:30am. I’ve had maybe an hour of sleep. Last night I drank two large glasses of white wine to “help me sleep,” but it didn’t work. Despite the grogginess and irritability, I’m still buzzing for the weekend — happiness 70%.
2am (2023): I wake at 2am. I went to bed at 9pm and got 4–5 hours of solid, restorative sleep. Not my ideal 7–8, but good enough. I feel fresh, excited, ready for the weekend — happiness 80%.
5am (2021): Through security, first pint in hand. Doesn’t even taste that good at this hour, but dopamine soars to 95% because the holiday has “officially started.”
5am (2023): Through security, the lads hit the bar. I wander the bookshop, then grab an Americano at Starbucks. Caffeine hit, relaxed, looking forward to chilling on the plane — steady 80%.
7am (2021): On the plane. Captain announces a one-hour delay due to a security issue. No leaving seats, no drinks service until take-off. My mates and I are rattled. We’ve already had four pints each and now can’t top up. Faces redden, sweating like the heating’s being turned up every five minutes. Anxiety kicks in and mood drops — all we want is another drink to feel neutral again. This sucks ass. From a 95% high after that first pint, we plummet to 40% at best.
7am (2023): I’m chilled. I’ve got a few podcasts downloaded (They Think It’s All Sober and Decoding the Gurus). Earbuds in, I peacefully gaze out the window, eventually nodding off on the runway. Another delay, not ideal, but I’m grateful to be on holiday instead of in the office. Plus, I’m secretly enjoying watching the boys suffer. Still 80%. Though I do get little shoots of nervous energy in my spine thinking about my big moment at roughly 11pm tonight.
10am (2021): Drinks eventually served on the plane after a 2-hour drought. We all order three each, making sure we don’t run out again. Dopamine spikes to 80%, then crashes with more forced abstinence when we land: baggage reclaim, pick-up, 35-minute transfer. Booze wears off, anxiety ratchets up, mood drops to 50%.
10am (2023): Land in Spain. Not a cloud in the sky. Dopamine shoots to 90% at the thought of a day doing nothing by the pool.
12pm (2021): Marina bar. Pint after pint, rum after rum, cocktail after cocktail. Craic’s decent, but each round brings diminishing returns. Short dopamine peaks, deeper mood dips. A yo-yo: 80% → 60% → 70% → 50% → 60% → 40%. We should probably stop drinking for a while, or at least drink some water, but the only way to snap out of the post-drink funk is another drink — usually stronger than the last. By mid-afternoon I’m pissed as a newt, staggering back to the hotel feeling like crap.
12pm (2023): Same marina, but I’ve starred in this movie many times and know how it ends. The plan was a quick 2-hour bar crawl then back to the pool, but we’ve been stuck in the same bar — in the shade — in a never-ending cycle of “same again, mate.” The lads can’t finish drinks in sync, so rounds keep dragging. As long as alcohol’s flowing, they don’t care about the venue. They get louder without noticing, and even weak jokes get roars of laughter. A middle-aged dad with his family at another table shoots me a look like, tell your mates to pipe down. I give him a “sorry, mate” half-grin. After two hours I’ve had enough. I tell the lads I’m off to phone the Mrs., then head back to the pool, order a zero beer, and begin reading There is No Wall by Allie Bailey in the sunshine. Bliss — 80%. A couple of hours later, tiredness kicks in. Earbuds in, music on, 45-minute nap by the pool.
5pm (2021): Back to the room. “Power nap.” Wake at 8pm feeling like dogshit. Need a drink to function. Irish bar across the road is dead, so we move on to the Fat Fajita Karaoke Bar around 11.
5pm (2023): Refreshed from the pool. I stroll the promenade, phone my wife, then my mum. Spot a nice restaurant, order tapas, watch the sunset. Meet the boys later at the Irish bar.
11pm (2021): Hours of up-and-down drinking. Karaoke perks me up. I write my name down. Even after more than a dozen drinks, my nerves jangle — shots take the edge off. By the time I’m called, I’m drunk enough not to care. All These Things That I’ve Done by The Killers. In my head, I nailed it. I immediately sign up again for a bit of Meat Loaf. But the shots are hitting and blackout looms. Dopameter spikes at 90%, then crashes to 50%.
11pm (2023): Sober karaoke — my big moment. Will I commit or bottle it? I know I can’t procrastinate, so I scribble my name down before I talk myself out of it. Ten singers go before me and every one of them sounds like Adele! I consider bolting, but then… “OK, next up we have Niall.” It’s like I’ve just been tasered — nervous electricity firing through my veins. I’m tempted to do what Joey did in the dance group in Friends and sprint for the door. It feels like a thousand people are in the bar. I’m bricking it. My song of choice? Song for Whoever by The Beautiful South (don’t ask me why). As Billy the karaoke guy hands me the mic, I suddenly panic about what to do with my left hand — like I’ve just discovered I’ve got one. Nobody teaches you these things at sober school. I shove it in my pocket. My voice is shaky, but the crowd are generous. Turns out hen parties love this track. They give me a standing ovation — not for talent, but for having the balls to get up there. I’m buzzing, strangers patting me on the back, throwing fist-pumps and high-fives.
Midnight (2021): Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad, Meat Loaf attempt — barely remembered. Any karaoke regular knows the etiquette: max two songs per person, maybe two solos and a duet. I tell myself I’m done. Dopameter crashes to 30%. I blackout soon after. No idea how I got back to the hotel.
Midnight (2023): With nerves mostly gone, I sing my second: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons. The crowd sing and dance along. I now realise sober karaoke is more exhilarating than drunk karaoke — how could it not be? Dopameter holds steady at 95%. A few of my mates have tapped out already. Those remaining seem intent on spitting in my ear and repeatedly telling me how much they still love and ‘respecthct’ me. After twenty-plus hours of solid drinking, everyone’s breath smells like a dog’s arse. I can see the night has already peaked and it’s only going in one direction. I slip out the side door at 12:30 and walk back to the hotel on cloud nine. Adrenaline still pumping — I don’t sleep for another two hours. But I know I’ve had a breakthrough. Secretly beaming with pride. I’ve sung karaoke sober; what else is there to fear? I tell myself I never need to drink again. Can’t wait for the morning.
Next Week on The Dopameter Diaries
Day 2: sunrise swims and sober highs, or the hair of the dog and the hangover blues.
Absolutely love this! As someone who is starting out their alcohol free journey(4.5 months so far) and worried about holidays, this gave me such a boost!x