My name is Clare, and I am not an alcoholic. I drink less than ten units a year.As a mother of four young children I go out once in a pink moon (considerably more rare than a blue one) and even then, I let loose to the extent of two glasses of wine. At Christmas I may go wild and have a single kir royale. Let’s get this party started!Things were rather different in my 20s and early 30s. Back then my evening drinks menu ran something like this: glass of Savvy B while applying make-up at home; double vodka, lemon and lime pre-dinner; bottle of prosecco in the restaurant. Maybe an espresso martini or two after?The idea of ten units spread over a full 365 days would have blown my mind. I could get through ten units an evening, glugging back G&Ts at some sunny garden party while shadows lengthened on the lawn.I was a big drinker, a ‘just one more’ type, a last one on the dancefloor-playing air-guitar drinker. And good fun it was, too.So why the change – from Keith Richards to Chief Puritan of the Sobriety Society? As ever, the words of Winston Churchill express it best.The wartime prime minister – who famously enjoyed a pint of Pol Roger champagne with both lunch and dinner – said of his intake: ‘I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.’Good for him. But there came a point when I realised alcohol was taking more out of me than I was getting out of it. Clare Foges used to big drinker in her 20s and 30s, a ‘just one more’ type, a last one on the dancefloor-playing air-guitar drinkerAs I inched towards my 40s (I’m now 45), I found that even small amounts of booze resulted in a lower-case hangover, writes Clare FogesWe all know about hangovers with a capital H – those miserable hell-fests brought about by benders with a capital B. But as I inched towards my 40s (I’m now 45), I found that even small amounts of booze resulted in a lower-case hangover.One glass of wine I can get away with. Two? I’ll be sluggish, muzzy and hungry as Jabba the Hutt for at least the next day.And so it was with a nodding head that I watched Diary of a CEO podcaster Steven Bartlett talk about how a couple of glasses of wine ‘ruined three days of [his] life because of the domino effect it caused’.Said Bartlett: ‘It meant that I got worse sleep that night. I ate more poorly the next day because my dopamine system or cortisol system or whatever was all messed up.'Then I podcasted worse, and I didn’t go to the gym the day after, and could track all of this on my Whoop [a wearable device that monitors your body’s key metrics].’Various celebrities leapt on Bartlett for being the biggest killjoy since Oliver Cromwell cancelled Christmas.Influencer Vogue Williams jibed that he is ‘not actually living his life’. Broadcaster Fearne Cotton bantered she ‘genuinely sometimes podcasts better on a hangover’.Julia Bradbury said ‘life is about progress, not perfection’. BBC Radio 1 DJ Greg James talked about starting an ‘anti-Bartlett cult’. Various commentators launched into him for being unspeakably wet and wimpy. The general hoo-ha over Steven Bartlett's comments revealed our nation’s weird relationship with alcoholYou’ve heard of virtue-signalling: this was vino-signalling, or fun-signalling – people showing through their disdain of Bartlett’s approach what a jolly good laugh they are. It had the smack of teenagers sniggering at someone for ordering a St Clements mocktail at the bar. ‘Fun sponge!’Yes, Bartlett is a bit wacky on the ‘self-optimisation’ front. I have never understood why people wear Fitbits and other tracking devices when it’s pretty obvious how many hours kip you’ve had or whether you’ve managed to peel yourself off the sofa to exercise.But aside from that, the general hoo-ha over his comments revealed our nation’s weird relationship with alcohol.Nothing matters more to the British than showing you like a drink and a laugh. We are perhaps the only country in the world to size up potential prime ministers in terms of whether they’re someone we would go for a pint with, as though the ability to while away an hour over a packet of pork scratchings means you could trust them with the nuclear codes.We try to outcompete each other with hangover stories; mark rites of passage with alcohol; use the word ‘lightweight’ as an insult.In Britain, your attitude to alcohol is seen as your attitude to life. Sobriety is for joyless control freaks who are, frankly, un-British. Was the Empire built by people who could have days of their life ‘ruined’ by half a bottle of Pinot Grigio, goddammit?But uncool or un-British as it may be, what Bartlett said rang very true for me – and, I suspect, for many middle-aged mums. Several 40-something girlfriends have mentioned that they can’t handle the hangovers any more.Some of this may be hormonal: during menopause, your body’s ability to metabolise alcohol slows down. But a big part of it must also be that middle-aged women are about the most over-worked group in society, the ones who can least afford a hangover.As a mother of four, every day I undertake the domestic equivalent of the decathlon: hair-brushing, teeth-brushing, breakfast-making, tidying, shoe-finding, cleaning, school-running, laundry, shopping, cooking.Doing this with a muzzy head and mouth like a sandpit is unthinkable. I need to be in peak physical condition.I’d love to have several drinks like the old days, but the domino effect Bartlett talks about is real. If I have a couple of glasses of wine I’ll sleep worse. I’ll be more tired and snappy the next day. I’ll put off what needs to be done – piling more work on the following days.I’ll eat 18 Babybels and four packets of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps, ushering in a general ‘sod it’ approach to my diet that will last for days. While I don’t care much about ‘self-optimisation’, I don’t want to sacrifice three good days for two glasses of wine.To those still in the Churchillian position of taking more out of alcohol than it takes out of them: good for you, and bottoms up! But don’t be so judgmental of those of us who have found that the juice just ain’t worth the squeeze any more. Put some clothes on, Madge Pop star Madonna in her latest music video, Confessions II – The FilmIs anyone shocked by 67-year-old Madonna’s new video, which has her in a tight PVC dress, simulating sex acts in a toilet cubicle? Nope, me neither. If Madge really wants to shock, how about a fully clothed and non-sexual video next time? Don’t forget the Poirot tache British actor Edward Bluemel, who will play Hercule Poirot in a new BBC adaptationHurrah for the new BBC Poirot adaptation, a prequel starring British actor Edward Bluemel, as the Belgian detective in his younger days. While David Suchet will always be Hercule number one for me, I’m prepared to love this – as long as they keep the tiny moustache. US Vice President JD Vance with his wife Usha, who is a second-generation immigrantJD Vance has made some fair comments on where Europe is going wrong. But blaming an ‘invasion’ of migrants for Henry Nowak’s murder is odd considering the killer was born in the UK. (One parent came here from India.) And doubly odd as the US Vice President’s wife is a second-generation immigrant. If you want to stay sweet with the in-laws, JD, best not to call them invaders.Epstein: Why have no men been jailed?Jeffrey Epstein’s PA, Lesley Groff, appeared before a US House of Representatives panel this week, to be asked what she knew.It’s right she is probed, but isn’t it odd that so far only a woman (Ghislaine Maxwell) is behind bars, and now another is before lawmakers? Why aren’t the men being held to account?