My teetotal hell in a city that likes a drink

I recently tried teetotalism and discovered how difficult it is for abstainers in London. People asked if I was on medication; some thought I'd converted to Islam. When I ordered mineral water on a date, my companion asked if I was an alcoholic; she then became withdrawn when I replied "no". I got the impression she thought I found her unattractive.

Being outside of the loop of camaraderie was hardest: jokes that made the group laugh and subjects that enthralled them passed me by. The tipsy share a wavelength the sober can't tune in to.

London has an uncomplicated relationship with alcohol. We love it without anxiety or pretension. It is not the same in rival cities. New York is filled with uptight calorie-counting neurotics desperate to sneer at the half-cut. They even have a word for it, "drunkenfreude". The last time I was there, I received dinner-table comments on Britain's "disgusting" drinking habits. I pointed out they'd spent 20 minutes discussing where to buy a "skinny decaff dry soya latte" and that Londoners are never so boring after we've loosened up with alcohol. We'll forgive almost anyone for almost anything said while drunk, giving us the most piercing and mischievous sense of humour.

The one time I got drunk in Paris, I had a vacuous unwanted discussion about racism foisted on me by bourgeois pseuds who only speak to the dark-skinned when they're asking for a restaurant bill.

In Delhi, people drink neat liquor while driving their "car-o-bar" because they resent paying club prices. I hadn't boozed in the back of a car since my teens and blamed their behaviour on the fact that everyone there lives with their parents.

Sit on the top deck of a night bus while sober and London's unique boozy magic is obvious. You see tipsy Rastas share their chips with coquettish queens, and prim Asian girls give pasty baseball-capped chavs the come-on. They're all too drunk to notice it themselves. People regard binge-drinking as the bane of Great Britain, but catch the N38 to Hackney at two on a Sunday morning and you'll see how alcohol is the elixir of equality, enabling Londoners to flirt, chat and josh with anyone.

My dry spell didn't last the month; I now enjoy the sauce as much as ever. London is an unwelcoming place for the sober, but when you're wearing beer goggles there's no better place to be.