Up until 31 December 2013, I had never spent a New Year’s Eve, as an adult, utterly sober. Even then, there were mitigating circumstances. My wife and I were supposed to be hosting a party. But surprise! My wife’s waters broke that day, a month before she was due to give birth. Our taxi made it to the hospital in central London just as the police shut off all the roads. We had to do the last stretch on foot, pushing through drunken crowds. Midnight came and went. I think the midwives toasted it with Pepsi in the next room. We made do with gas and air. Our son arrived about four hours into 2014.

Ever since, I have vowed to spend New Year’s Eve sober or, to put it another way, to spend my son’s birthday not brutally hungover. But I always fall down somewhere along the way. If you’re at any sort of party, everyone expects you to drink. On New Year’s Eve, they practically command you to. If you’re trying to have a quiet one, there’s always the temptation to invite some friends over last minute and lo! They have brought some really delicious champagne with them and oh, go on then. And even if you stick to Netflix, well, the slightly depressing implications of this can lead you to seek consolation in one or six strong cocktails.

Still, if you’re averse to New Year – that tricky combination of compulsory fun, surge pricing and enforced existential reflection – there isn’t much to lose by going at it sober. And at parties throughout this year, I have tried and tested a few techniques, dipsological and psychological, that should make it a little easier.

There is no reason to be ashamed of not drinking, but you don’t necessarily want you not drinking to be the evening’s sole topic of conversation. You can fend off most low-grade observational heckles at their source by drinking something that looks a bit like alcohol, but isn’t – tonic water with ice and a slice of lime, non-alcoholic beer – but we all have a mate who won’t let it drop. If they’re getting a round just say, “Oh, so-and-so’s getting me one.” Or casually frame your ginger beer order as if you’re pacing yourself. There’s no need to actively lie if you don’t have to.

On the other hand, deception is not going to work as an overarching strategy. If you’re having the quietest of quiet ones with a partner, you need to be on the same page. And if you’re out and can persuade a friend to be your non-drinking buddy, it will certainly help. Then you can exchange knowing glances and sardonic commentary on other people’s drunkenness.

It is not entirely clear that drinking four pints of Coca-Cola over an evening is better than drinking four pints of lager. What goes up must come down, so try to stick to low-sugar drinks that aren’t going to leave you with a heavy crash, which will in turn lead to sharper cravings for something to snap you out of it. If it’s a dinner that’s the focus of the evening, find a food-friendly non-alcoholic alternative to wine. Kombucha and cold-brewed tea are both good.

So, you had a sip of champagne at midnight. OK, a whole glass. So what? Big deal. It doesn’t mean the whole evening needs to spiral. One is better than eight.

Plan something fun for New Year’s morning, something that will make you genuinely glad you didn’t drink the night before. A walk, an excursion, a workout, a swim, your tax return, your New Year’s resolutions. Write out five things you intend to improve upon in the coming year and five things you intend to be more grateful for and seal in an envelope to be opened next New Year’s Day.