Mastering The Martini

This month, Olly Mann, who’s not much of a drinker, raves about his favourite cocktail in the world

I drink alcohol every night, but I’m not much of a drinker. In Britain, this isn’t especially contradictory. We inhabit such a boozy nation that someone like me—who takes wine with most meals, welcomes each weekend with a G&T, and even subscribes to a craft beer club, for goodness sake—can comfortably herald himself “not much of a drinker.” Since I rarely embark upon an evening with the sole intention of knocking back shots until I can’t remember my name, I identify as not much of a drinker.

Mind you, our nation’s relationship with drunkenness is subtly shifting: millenials are spurning the sauce to keep hold of their cash and their Instagramfriendly abs, and middle-aged personalities such as Clare Pooley (in her book, The Sober Diaries) and Adrian Chiles (in his documentary, Drinkers Like Me) are questioning whether their middle-class, Waitrose-style drinking is as addictive and potentially life-ruining as the Wetherspoon variety (answer: almost certainly). Meanwhile, “Dry January” is growing in popularity, for reasons I cannot fathom. Why would you voluntarily reject the liquid solace that offers the only relief from the dampest, dankest, darkest, most depressing month of drudgery we face? Can’t we just do Dry September, instead?