People say they drink a lot because they don’t like themselves and they want to escape who they really are. Later, the same people tell me they stopped drinking because they hated who they were when they were drunk. Does that mean an average level of self-loathing will only ever leave you suspended between the two... somewhere between functional human and utter train wreck?

This is, I think, where I fall.

I consider stopping. Not just as every "Stoptober" and "Dry January" roll by, but as my own personal loop of regret hits me each weekend. Sometimes during the week. But the problem is: I like being drunk. The same person who fires off self-destructive messages also does me favours; they have the courage to flirt with people who are a lot better looking than I am and the imagination to take a night somewhere unexpected. With alcohol, I have fun.

What then, to do about my drunk texting problem?

“Download an app”, someone recently suggested. There’s one called “Lock Out”, apparently, which denies you access to your social media accounts when you’re wasted, and another called “TUI Stopper”, which removes people from your phonebook until you’re ready to say something cogent. Then there’s “Drunk Lock”. which makes you solve a series of maths questions before you can access your phone – maths problems I doubt I’d be able to solve drunk or sober.

No, I don't think the cure for my inane use of technology is more inane technology. I think to get to the bottom of why we feel the need to drunk message, drunk post and drunk dial, we should consider our compulsion to share. Our culture encourages us to broadcast our lowest moments –"Omfg why did I just spend £13.50 on Carol" – and our highest – "LOOOOL mum singing Hotline Bling" – as well as all the trivial shit in between. (It's all trivial). You have a "following", you chalk up "likes", and you're led to believe that, if you’re not on Tinder, Happn or Raya, something is wrong with you emotionally.