The month-long challenge for people to give up alcohol and sugar in February made the hours tick over rather more slowly; like the night of your second cousin’s dry wedding when the speeches don’t start until 11.30pm.

On that sobering thought, Febfast is a clever campaign to support young people facing serious disadvantage in Australia, which really gained traction this year – on my Facebook feed anyhow. 

"Geez Louise!" I thought.

"If *Faith, *Hope and *Charity are doing Febfast, I really should give it a shot."

While I wasn't prepared to take the Veganuary pledge – Meat-free Monday works better in our home – Febfast sounded altogether more achievable.

I like a social drink on weekends but I haven’t craved sugar since I weaned myself off it after a blowout year in the late 1980s as a youth exchange student. Cheese is my single, biggest vice. Cheesefast, no show. Stiff cheddar!

But I planned to give Febfast a dry run this year and, all going well, sign up next year.

By Wednesday of the first week in, I knew I’d made a grave error of judgement in booking an interview for an article about homemade fruit liqueur.

Quicker than I could say Febfast, the brewer had poured me a shot. It seemed impolite at best and wasteful at worst to not have a sip. I was out of the game already on Day 3, all for one satisfying tablespoon of peach plonk.

Perhaps there was a work clause; I’d carry on.

Not a drop of alcohol passed my lips for the next 15 days, which included two weekends. Then book club resumed in February and it is, chapter and verse, the only meeting of the year by the pool with sangria. In seven years of book club I have always missed the first monthly meeting and this pleasant catch-up over mixed drinks. Finally I was free and with a designated driver to boot. 

In reply to the offer of a drink I tried to spit out Febfast, but what actually came out sounded more like: “Thanks, just a small one – I’m doing a bit of a Febfast! It’s a practice run for next year; I don’t like my chances.”

Two small sangrias later, I surmised they’d be a book club clause in the Febfast fine print. I’d push on.

Come the next night at the Junction Place Twilight Market I thanked my lucky stars I couldn’t get within 20 paces of the front of the cider queue. It was a stunning evening for fermented apple juice but I headed home to sparkling water instead.

That Saturday night and with my brother and his family at our home for dinner, the book club clause seemed increasingly implausible. I reasoned I was already out of the game way back on Day 3 and there was a bottle of chilled Organic One sparkling wine sitting in our fridge door since January.

Feeling the effects of my Faux Febfast for which I couldn’t even blame the leap year, I finally logged onto the Victoria's Youth Support and Advocacy Service fundraiser’s website. Turns out there was a Timeout Pass, which might have accounted for those three slip-ups. I could have also undertaken the express challenge over just 14 days instead of the full month. Finally, you don’t need to give up both alcohol and sugar – one challenge is perfectly acceptable.

With my spirits lifted, I felt better prepared to give Febfast more than a faux-go in 2017.

Meanwhile there's a March Charge and Dry July for those looking to buy a little extra time in their year.

* Faux names of Facebook friends.