At first glance, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Galicians drink all day. The cafes are full from 8am til 10pm, much later for the bars, and tables are littered with wine glasses and beer bottles, mostly the regional beer, Estrella Galicia. The year I bought the house I decided to stop drinking, mostly due to booze not working out particularly well with the roller coaster we call the menopause. Sleepless nights and anxiety seemed to be the norm, but after quitting I discovered that they tend to be the norm after a bottle of vino, but not otherwise. Galician life could have been tricky on this front, and occasionally it is, but a quick scan of other café tables presents a healthy number of alcohol-free beers, Estrella tostado is a tasty one, or cups of coffee, regardless of the time of day or night.

The price of alcohol, which can be a hefty incentive to give up in the UK (four grand savings in less than three years, the total from a large glass of wine each night), doesn’t quite factor here. Less than two euros for a decent glass of Galician wine, Alberinho or Ribeira, makes the decision to abstain that much harder. The lunchtime offering, a menu del día, from most restaurants in my neck of the woods, comes with a starter, main and dessert for under fifteen euros , and this will include local wine (the bottle normally left on the table for you to drink what you fancy) or a beer. Very generous. This can be substituted for a glass of fizzy water or some other soft drink, and looking around any restaurant, the orders from other diners are varied. The Galician ex was a teacher and occasionally sent a photo of his lunch – a 6% Estrella Galicia always on his tray, purchased in the school canteen. A different attitude to alcohol right there.

There are places I tend to avoid sober. The late night Bodegon on the car park is run by the friendliest man, Rodrigo, and the interior is nautical-cosy. The odds and sods of memorabilia on the walls include a Chelsea FC scarf and a drawing of Rodrigo above the door when he started working at the bar in his teens, 39 years ago. That he’s run this tight and tiny ship for almost 40 years (and still smiling) is quite something. Despite the welcoming owner, and most orders arriving with a small plate of serrano ham carved from the joint on the bar, this charming place is unmistakably the local boozer, open weekend nights until 2am, and I tend to go elsewhere when I’m on my own.

A morning tipple is a common sight in local cafes; maybe a wine, beer or Martini, but I’ve yet to notice anyone the worse for wear. The few times that drinking with friends from home has been a good idea, the large measures have been our undoing…its not easy to detach the British way of drinking (keep it coming) from the size of the drinks here. It’s been a blessing that the tiny tower is less than a 5-minute, slow-sway from the nearest bars. ‘One for the road’ doesn’t have a direct translation, but Rodrigo closing the door and swiping away the last of your drink, is barman’s language the world over.